Show and Tell
by NeverNik
Summary: Draco and Hermione want their friends to know about their relationship. Trouble is, some may not take it very well and may end up being scarred for life - emotionally or physically, take your pick. So our lovers put their heads together and work out a plan... or three. Final part of the series starting with 'Malfoy's Problem.' Won 2018's Hermione's Haven award for Best Series.
1. Chapter 1

**This fic continues on from 'Up Against a Cold Castle Wall' and 'Swear Jar'. Looks like a series is being born!**

 **The story is mine but the characters belong to J.K Rowling.**

* * *

It was crafted as stealthily as the Battle of Waterloo.

Where people were positioned.

Their alliances, their enemies.

The nitwits that usually end up getting in the way.

Conventions. Negotiations.

It shortly became more complicated than establishing a thriving central business district on Mars.

[ ]

'But what if we try – '

'Won't work, because then it would fuck up – '

'Oh, yeah.'

At Hermione's doleful tone, Malfoy sighed and gathered her into a hug.

'I think we need to face facts, love. No matter what we try, it will end in warfare.'

She buried her face into his shoulder. 'I don't want us to be each other's dirty little secrets.'

'Neither do I. But let's face it. Most of our friends are jackasses who don't have the maturity to accept that a Slytherin and Gryffindor can be together, let alone a Malfoy and a…'

'A me.' Hermione's bottom lip started wobbling.

'Hey.' He kissed her lips, chasing the wobbles away. 'You're the brightest witch of our age. I know you'll come up with something that will work.'

'Really?' Hermione pulled away from him, annoyed. 'And what exactly will you be doing while I bust my chops solving this problem, and why not the rest of the world's problems, while I'm at it?'

'I, my passionate little wildflower, will totally support you and help you execute your plan every step of the way.'

With a cocky smile on his face that had Hermione's knickers dampening, he laid down on the bed and crooked a beckoning finger.

'Now, come here and ravish me, witch.'

She tried to resist him. She really did.

But face it, readers. Could you?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: read 'Malfoy's Problem' before continuing with this chapter. If you want to :)**

* * *

 **Plan A**

'We should conduct some market research.'

Malfoy, poking his head out from his uniform jumper, said 'What's that when it's at home?'

Hermione absent-mindedly straightened his tie, while he just as absent-mindedly straightened hers. 'It's like conducting a survey to find out what people's opinions are on something.'

Malfoy shrugged on his robes. 'Again, in English, please.'

Hermione sat on his bed and pulled on her socks, an action Malfoy sound strangely erotic. 'We ask people what they think of us and compare responses.'

'Us, as in 'us together'?'

'No, we should probably start with something simpler. How about you ask your friends what they think of me, I'll ask mine what they think of you, and we'll see what responses pop up?'

Malfoy drew Hermione into his arms and kissed the top of her head. 'Okay, but don't expect miracles, all right?'

Hermione smiled up at him. 'I'll try not to.'

'And no tantrums or hex-throwing if you receive less-than-complimentary feedback.'

'Are you talking to yourself, or me?'

Hermione squealed as Malfoy narrowly missed smacking her arse and ran from the bedroom.

[ ]

Easier said than done, actually _,_ Hermione mused while at breakfast in the Great Hall. Introducing Malfoy into a conversation with her friends, particularly Harry and Ron, was rather like flinging a lit match into a storeroom full of dynamite.

She looked under her lashes at Malfoy, breakfasting with the Slytherins. It turned out to be easier than she thought to pretend that Malfoy was nothing more to her than Head Boy, dorm-mate and arrogant prat. And that's not right. She didn't want to choose between her dearest friends and her lover.

Except Malfoy's more than a lover, she realised. He'd become one of her dearest friends, too.

Right. Hermione squared her shoulders. She was put in Gryffindor House for a reason, so here goes.

'Hey Gin,' she called over to the lovely young redhead who was cuddled up with Harry across the table. 'What did you think of Malfoy's broom?'

'Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh.' Ginny rested her chin on her hand dreamily, while Harry pouted. 'It was awesome! Nearly better than sex.'

Harry blushed beet red while Ron yelled 'Oi! That's enough I want to hear from you on that topic!'

Ignoring Ron, Ginny tried to buck Harry up. 'I said _nearly_ better, darling.'

Harry buried his burning face in his hands.

Eager to prevent Ron from soaring into orbit, Hermione sped the conversation along. 'So, it's a little more advanced than your broom?'

'Oh, for sure!' Not questioning in the least why Hermione wanted to talk about brooms, of all things, Ginny launched into a long and technical monologue about aerodynamics and balance and other mysteries that left Hermione way behind, but at least Ginny's speech drew Harry and Ron back into the conversation, albeit reluctantly.

'Sounds great!' Hermione said faintly when Ginny finally paused for breath. 'Doesn't it sound like a great broom, Harry?'

He shrugged. 'I'm happy with my own.'

'I'm sure you are, but if the opportunity came up for you to take a model like Malfoy's out for a test fly, would you turn it down?'

''Course not. But that's not going to happen – '

'Why not? He offered his to Ginny voluntarily. I mean, I know there's been bad blood between you in the past – yes, thank you, Ron,' she snapped at Ron who snorted into his pumpkin juice with great dramatic effect – 'but I bet you that if you asked him politely, he'd let you try it.'

This time both Harry and Ron snorted into their pumpkin juice. Ginny, who was sitting between them and got caught by the overspray, was disgusted.

'Honestly, the pair of you,' she fumed. 'You're acting like eight-year-olds, not eighteen-year-olds. Hermione should know what she's talking about, right? She lives with the git after all – sorry,' she said sheepishly to Hermione, 'old habit. Look, you two. It's a new year, and people in Slytherin have had to turn over new leaves, right? Why can't we? Stop being so bigoted, the both of you. Harry, if you want to try the broom – and trust me, you do – what's the harm in asking? And Ron? I'm in a relationship with Harry, so get over yourself and accept it.'

'You only said all that because you want another ride on Malfoy's _broom,_ ' Ron snarled with air quotes.

Harry leapt up from the table, but Ginny had it in hand. She slugged Ron so hard he fell backwards off the bench. Then she serenely strode out of the Great Hall with her head high to the sound of applause from Slytherin and Professor McGonagall screeching 'Detention, Miss Weasley! And twenty points from Gryffindor!' from her perch at the High Table.

Harry followed her, stopping first to call Ron a few loathsome names while he lay flat out on the flagstone floor, wondering how on earth he got there.

Hermione slumped over her coffee. That could have gone better.

At least she had Ginny's vote.

[ ]

'So, how did you do?'

That evening found Hermione and Malfoy curled up together on the settee, nursing medicinal Firewhiskeys.

Malfoy smirked. 'At least I managed to conduct my survey without a fistfight breaking out.'

'Technically, that wasn't related to the survey,' Hermione pointed out. 'That was Ron being a dick about Harry and Ginny.'

'One doesn't need an excuse to put the Weasel down a peg or two. As for Red's right hook - ' Malfoy kissed his fingers - ' _c'est magnifique!'_

Hermione sighed. 'Look. I realise that you and Ron are never going to be best mates, particularly given my previous relationship with him, but – '

Malfoy hmphed. 'It didn't last long enough to be called anything, let alone a relationship.'

'But,' Hermione continued impatiently, 'it would really mean a lot to me if you could at least pass each other in the corridor without calling each other names. Can you at least do that?'

Silence.

'Draco?'

He sighed. 'Fetch me another Firewhiskey and I'll think about it.'

'Oh, but the way…. Harry may or may not approach you about taking your broom for a – '

'Test fly? Yeah, he asked me this afternoon, you scheming little minx.'

Hermione looked up at his beautiful, chiselled face with trepidation. She found sleepy silver eyes and a smile playing on his lips.

She hugged him. 'I love you, Draco.'

He hugged her back. 'I love you, too. But don't try that stunt with the Weasel.'

[ ]

The rest of Hermione's Gryffindor survey produced the following results:

(1) Lavender thought Malfoy was hot, further inflaming Ron's continued ire

(2) Parvati agreed and added that Padma was of the same opinion

(3) Dean wanted to know if he could try Malfoy's broom, too ('Oh, for Merlin's sake!' growled Malfoy)

(4) Seamus said that Malfoy's stopped calling him rude names but that was all he could think of and could he get back to his breakfast, please?

(5) Neville was still in shock that Malfoy helped pick up his textbooks from when he tripped over a few weeks ago

(6) Luna (who was not, of course, in Gryffindor but was sitting next to Neville) ventured that Draco was 'very misunderstood.' Then added that he was hot.

Hermione poked Malfoy in the ribs when he became a bit too insufferable about the number of Gryffindor/Ravenclaw women who thought he was hot, and grumpily asked for his results.

They were:

(1) Zabini thought Hermione was hot

(2) Nott seconded Zabini with a little too much enthusiasm for Malfoy's liking

(3) Parkinson's opinion of Hermione was mostly unrepeatable, but she did concede that her hair seems to be slightly less rats' nest-looking this year

(4) Millicent shrugged and kept eating, so Malfoy put her down as 'neutral'.

(5) The Greengrasses deplored her Muggle fashion sense

(6) Crabbe and Goyle asked Malfoy what his opinion of Hermione was. Since they agreed with whatever Malfoy told them, he put them down as affirmatives.

'That wasn't quite as bad as I thought it would be,' said Hermione with not a small dose of relief. 'Wow, Blaise and Theo think I'm hot, eh?'

Hermione giggled and glanced up at Malfoy, who bared his teeth back at her.

She smiled back demurely.

Malfoy thought a change of subject would be in good order. 'Now, my pretty young witch, what's the next step?'

Hermione tapped her chin. 'I think, perhaps, some light immersion therapy.'

'Granger…' Malfoy gritted.

'Sorry, just thinking out loud. Basically, we create a situation that shows us interacting in a pleasant manner toward each other in view of other people, and see what they say or do.'

'Are we going to snog in public?'

'No, we are not going to snog in public! Not yet, anyway.'

'Disappointing. Oh well, lead on.'


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: minor updates (11/30/2016)**

* * *

 **Plan B**

It was a bit of a fizzer.

Raised voices were heard just outside the Great Hall as people streamed in for dinner. Much to most students' disappointment, it was not accompanied by name-calling, fist-throwing or bat-bogey hexes. It was just a conversation between the Head Boy and Head Girl. Done in loud voices, for some reason.

'Granger, I know you need this text book for your Potions assignment, and since the entire school knows you like to get your assignments finished the day they're handed out, even though I've borrowed it from the Library, I want you to use it first.'

'Oh but Malfoy, I couldn't, it's only fair that you keep it.'

'Now, now, Granger, I won't hear of it! I have every faith in you that you'll return the book to me long before I even realise I need it.'

'Oh, well, if you insist, then. Thanks Malfoy, that book will help me a lot. But there must be something I can do for you in return…. Oh! Don't you have a Quidditch match on Saturday morning?'

'Why yes, Granger, I do.'

'And yet you're scheduled to patrol with Parkinson on Friday night! You should really have the night off, Malfoy, and have a good rest before your game. Tell you what - I'll take your place and – '(Hermione swallowed) – 'patrol with Parkinson.'

'Well, thank you Granger! That's really nice of you.'

They looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Not a soul was in sight.

Shrugging, they entered the Great Hall and sat at their usual places.

'What was that all about?' mumbled Harry around a bread roll.

'Oh, nothing much. Just exchanging good deeds with Malfoy,' Hermione responded with a hint of smugness.

'You should watch yourself, 'Mione. He'll lull you into a false sense of security, then BAM! He's got you where he wants you,' said Ron, peas leaping from his fork when he banged his fist on the table.

At Hermione's murderous look, he retreated slightly. 'I'm just looking out for you,' he said beseechingly.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but said nothing. Besides, she smiled to herself, Malfoy already has me, anytime he wants me…

[ ]

At the Slytherin table, the air was rent by a loud and most ear-splitting shriek.

'You're telling me I have to patrol with GRANGER?!'

[ ]

Back in the Heads' Dorm:

Hermione sat morosely on the settee, chin in her hands. 'I don't see what went wrong.'

Malfoy joined her. 'People tend to be set in their ways. Maybe the therapy thing was too subtle.'

'Hmm.' Leaning back, Hermione draped her legs over Malfoy's lap. 'It's a pity we can't show Muggle movies in Hogwarts. There are thousands of movies about couples from different sides of the fence getting together. If our friends could watch them, maybe our relationship won't seem so… wrong.'

He traced her cheekbones with a finger. 'It's not wrong, love.'

'No,' she whispered. 'It's very right.'

Then a light appeared in Hermione's eyes. One that Malfoy had learned to view with extreme suspicion.

'What is it?' he asked cautiously.

Hermione slowly climbed into Malfoy's lap. 'Draco,' she purred, 'do you trust me?'

Malfoy opened his mouth to give a carefully neutral reply, when she lapped her tongue up his throat, over his chin and into his mouth, kissing him deeply.

'Uh, 'Mi – mph!' Malfoy got no further as Hermione flattened her body against his and tied his tongue into knots with hers.

She soon had his interest clasped in her hand as she undid his trousers with the other.

He knew what she was doing. This was payment up front for a radical scheme that no-one in his right mind would contemplate. Still, he lifted his hips as she deftly removed his trousers and boxer briefs.

She spat on the head of his cock, and massaged it up and down his shaft, instantly making him harder than he thought it was possible to be.

When she slid her mouth down his cock, he had to hold it together, otherwise he'd come in seconds. He closed his eyes and gave in to the sensation of the slick heat of her mouth and tongue working their way down to the base of his cock. She gently took one of his balls into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it while Draco thought he'd died and gone to heaven. She let that one spill out of her mouth and repeated it with the other.

Draco looked at his hands. They were actually shaking.

That part of the beautiful torture over, Hermione made her way back to the head of his cock and angled it deep into her mouth. She sucked and withdrew from his cock, working the rest of it with her hand, until she invited him with her eyes to take over.

He gathered her beautiful hair up with one hand and encouraged her to move down his cock, slowly, slowly, until he felt the head of his cock scrape her throat. She hummed in satisfaction, nearly causing him to torque off the settee.

She'd been determined to learn how to deep-throat him, having heard stories whispered and giggled from Ginny and Lavender _et al._ Draco, on the other hand, knew that he was an above average size and was hesitant, but by Salazar, Hermione is not the perfect student for nothing. She loved to learn.

She opened her throat to accommodate his length for as long as she could, occasionally breaking free with a gasp, pumping his cock with the saliva from her mouth, her cheeks red with the effort. Then she'd dive down again, reaching just a little bit further each time.

Merlin's balls, he was close to coming. ''Mione', he croaked out…

She sped up, using shallower movements, milking his cock with her hands, encouraging him with her moans.

And there it was. Draco's orgasm boiled up from the core of his body and shot through his shaft. Hermione jacked his cock and his come squirted onto her lips and tongue.

He filled her mouth, and when he was dry, she swallowed it down, wiping his come off her lips and slowly licking one finger clean at a time.

Out of breath, he let his head fall back on the settee, his arms wrapping around Hermione as she climbed into his lap.

High on the release of endorphins, he was prepared to go along with anything his lady wanted.

[ ]

'We're doing a WHAT?!' Malfoy hollered.

[ ]

Hagrid poked his large, worried head around Professor Sprout's glasshouse door.

'Ah! There y'are, Professor! I was wonderin' if you had any herbal remedies ter recommend for our poor owls? No idea what's got inter them, but they're all sitting in th' Owlery with their tiny little knees knocking together, they're losing their feathers even though it ain't the moulting season, and if they hear any unexpected noise they all panic and take off!'

Hagrid tutted sadly. 'Poor wee things.'


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: minor updates (11/30/2016)**

* * *

 **Plan C… it's a big one**

A few weeks later, Hermione – and a reluctant Malfoy's – plan came into effect.

Muggle Studies Professor Ducky Clarence, an avid English literature fan, had just about despaired of getting any of her wizarding charges the remotest bit interested in works from the Greatest Playwright of All, until she received a visitation from the Head Girl.

Galvanised into action, next on the agenda was a joint trip to Professor Dumbledore, who thought the idea was 'charming' and 'very much looked forward to seeing it,' then to Professor McGonagall, who seemed mostly bemused by the whole thing but was sold on the 'inter-House unity' angle.

Slightly more difficult was obtaining Snape's permission. Malfoy had to be roped in for this one.

[ ]

Professor Snape sat behind his imposing desk, arms crossed, scowling, and maintaining a silent air of faint but ominous doom.

Professor Clarence, Hermione and Malfoy sat on the other side.

Snape suffered through Clarence and Granger's slightly muted, stuttered, presentation before turning to Malfoy.

'Walk with me a moment,' the great man said, rising from his desk and beckoning his Godson.

Malfoy sighed to himself, heaved himself off his chair and followed Snape into his private quarters that led off the Potions classroom.

'Are you blushing, Professor Clarence?' Hermione asked curiously.

Clarence put her hands to her warm cheeks. 'I just find Professor Snape so… _imposing_ , my dear.'

Hermione stared at her, aghast.

[ ]

Once the door was closed, Snape rounded on Malfoy. 'Have they put you under a compulsion charm?' he hissed.

'What? No!'

Unconvinced, Snape whipped out his wand and scanned him for spells, charms, hexes and curses. Disappointed to find none, he peered at Malfoy closely. Then what the bloody hell's the matter with you? You cannot be seriously thinking of getting involved in this – this – this – '

'Play, sir?' Malfoy suggested.

'Yes! And not just you! Slytherin seniors as well! I've never heard of anything so ridiculous in my life.'

Malfoy bridled. 'Yeah, well, I wasn't thrilled at first, but Granger and I have a good reason for doing it.'

Snape fixed him with a beady eye. 'Such as?'

Malfoy tried to maintain eye contact, but failed. 'I can't tell you,' he mumbled.

Snape muttered an oath and rolled his eyes.

'But all the other reasons are valid. Inter-house unity, showcasing great Muggle literature to a wizarding world, and… whatever else Granger said,' he finished lamely.

Snape started hacking and snorting. Malfoy leapt forward in alarm, afraid the Professor was choking. But it turned out that Snape was actually… laughing.

Malfoy did not take kindly being laughed at, even by his Potions Professor, but he kept a lid on his temper and smirked 'Well, this is encouraging, sir. Obviously some part of this project amuses you, so can I tell Granger and Clarence that you agree?'

Snape pulled himself together and wiped a tear from his eye. 'Oh, my dear boy,' he wheezed. 'It's happened at last.'

'What has?' Malfoy asked suspiciously.

But all Snape did was tap a fnger against his nose. 'All will be revealed soon enough. All right, tell Granger and that silly woman that I approve. But mind you tell them you had to work hard for it, and that I may withdraw my support at any time.'

Malfoy didn't need telling twice.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: minor updates (11/30/2016)**

* * *

Just before the first Muggle Studies class started for the week, Malfoy was seen outside the classroom taking a number of deep breaths. Hermione looked at him, troubled, but he waved her inside.

Zabini and Nott ambled up. 'You all right, mate?'

'Yeah,' Malfoy mumbled. 'Think I need to lay off the cigarettes.'

His friends shrugged and headed into the classroom.

Malfoy took one extra-large deep breath, held it, and let it go.

The things I do for this woman, he grumbled to himself.

Still, that _was_ an amazing blowjob…

[ ]

Professor Clarence, nearly giddy with excitement, barely waited for the last student to sit down before she burst out with the news. The Muggle Studies curriculum has been put aside for a special class-wide project!

Everyone looked at her suspiciously. Aside from Hermione, who was looking vacantly out the window, and Malfoy, who needed to check that his shoes were still tied.

Yup. There they are. Still tied.

'Who can tell me what a play is?' trilled the Professor.

Everyone automatically looked to Hermione, and were collectively taken aback to find that her hand was not sticking straight up in the air, as was the norm.

Harry hesitatingly raised his hand.

Professor Clarence pounced. 'Wonderful, Mr Potter! Off you go, then!'

'Um, well, a play is a thing where people act out a story on a stage. With costumes, and, um, props and special effects and stuff…' he trailed off, realising he'd just introduced two new Muggle phrases into the mix and he'd be damned if he was going to have to explain those. What the hell's wrong with Hermione, anyway?

'Excellent, Mr Potter! Ten points to Gryffindor.'

The Slytherin component of the class rolled their eyes.

Professor Clarence went into further detail, expounding on stage directions and characterisation and some daft thing called a 'box office' that left all the purebloods, half-bloods and most of the Muggle-born students utterly befuddled.

'And the best thing of all, my dears, is that the seniors of Gryffindor and Slytherin are going to put on a play for the whole school to see!'

The Muggle-borns gasped with horror first, but the rest of the class quickly caught on.

[ ]

It took a good ten minutes for Professor Clarence to restore something resembling order to her classroom. Her voice almost hoarse from shrieking, she wailed 'Surely there must be one person in this class who's open-minded enough to take on this exciting challenge?'

Hermione's hand went up. Shakily.

'I think it sounds really interesting. Acting can be quite fun,' she said faintly.

'Hark at the girly swot,' sneered Goyle.

'Shut it, Goyle!' snapped the Professor before Ron could. Then she turned her beaming smile on Hermione. 'Thank you, my dear. That is just the spirit I expect from a Head Girl!'

Hermione slunk into her seat.

'Now! Anyone else?'

The silence was so deafening you could have heard Filch sneak up. Malfoy presumed this was his cue.

He put up his hand. 'I think it's a good idea for the seniors to show the younger students that Muggle practices, while they may be strange to the wizarding community, are interesting and rewarding, if we take the chance to find out about them. And… um… yeah, good for inter-House unity, too.'

All heads swivelled to Malfoy as one.

Professor Clarence beamed with joy. 'Very well put, Mr Malfoy! Ten points to Slytherin! And so! Without further ado, may I introduce the playwright – that's the person who wrote the play, dear –' she whispered to Crabbe, who was laboriously writing down every word – 'a most magnificent Muggle of his time, possibly of all time: Mr William Shakespeare!'

If she was expecting applause, she was disappointed.

[ ]

Later that evening, Hermione and Malfoy slumped on their settee, nursing very large medicinal Firewhiskeys.

Hermione ventured first. 'So. That went… okay.'

Malfoy snorted. 'It couldn't have gone worse if Bulstrode stood up on her desk and performed a strip tease.'

Hermione swatted him. 'Don't be mean! But yeah… I tend to agree.'

She faced him with tears in her eyes. 'Maybe I made a really bad mistake.'

Malfoy was alarmed. 'Oh, no. No, no, no. You don't make mistakes. If you start thinking you've made a mistake, Voldemort will reappear and we'll all be sucked back to the dark ages.'

She sniffed. 'I just don't think I can – '

Malfoy gathered her into his arms. 'Yes, you can. Merlin, you've faced far more life-threatening situations than this. I have every faith in you. With your brains, and my – '

'Beauty?'

'Well, that goes without saying,' Malfoy preened. 'But I was going to say 'my cunning,' we'll make this a spectacle the likes of which Hogwarts has never seen!'

'Well, since a play's never been performed here, it will be a spectacle, the likes of which they've never seen, anyway.'

Malfoy stood up and extended his hand to Hermione. 'You know what I mean, love.'

As she stepped into his comforting embrace, he whispered 'Come to bed with me.'

'Best idea I've heard all day.'


	6. Chapter 6

**When Romeo met Juliet**

And thus, Plan C officially kicked off.

After Professor Clarence managed to obtain the students' interest, despite themselves, in the play (violence, duels, enemies and revenge for the boys; lovers forsaking all else for the girls); the first step was to hold auditions.

And, just like all carefully laid-out plans, this was where Plan C hit its first snag.

[ ]

Fearing that she would have no students (besides Hermione and Malfoy) to direct, Professor Clarence informed them that those who successfully landed roles in the play would be excused from Muggle Studies for the rest of the academic year, due to the dedication of time, patience and sanity required. Those who did not land roles were to continue with the classes.

She tried not to feel miffed when all the Slytherins and most of the Gryffindors auditioned.

Juliet proved to be an easy casting. With all those long lines of barely decipherable English to memorise (from a wizarding perspective, you understand), and with her long, curly Renaissance hair, Hermione Granger was the successful – and sole – auditonee.

As for Romeo…

[ ]

Competition for the role proved fierce. Clarence shouldn't have been surprised, really. If a Gryffindor and Slytherin had nothing else to do but watch an ant stagger from one side of a flagstone to another, you can bet there will be bets placed on its completion time and destination, down to the nearest centimetre.

At length, the Battle To Be Romeo boiled down to three finalists: Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Draco Malfoy.

The Gryffindor boys sulked and retired to the back of the classroom to lick their wounds and find out which slimy Slytherin was going to get their mitts on the Gryffindor Princess. Onstage.

Malfoy leaned back against his chair with his arms crossed, fuming inside. Of course, it had to be the two founding members of the 'I Bet Granger's a Screamer in the Sack' Club.

[ ]

'Mr Nott, will you take the stage, please?' trilled Professor Clarence, pointing to a spot on the classroom floor where some desks had been cleared.

Hermione looked a little apprehensive as Nott swaggered up to her, armed with a script and a leering grin. Her eyes darted to Draco. His face was impassive, but she knew that the tensed muscle along his jawline meant his temper had bypassed simmer, and was approaching boiling point.

'Rightio!' Professor Clarence clapped. 'Romeo, from 'If I profane' please.'

Nott winked at Hermione. She gave him a watery smile in return.

'Romeo! ROMEO! For Merlin's sake, Mr Nott, you're Romeo! Get a move on!'

'Oh! Right.' Nott glanced at the script.

 _ **Romeo:** If I profane with my unworthiest hand_

 _This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this:_

 _My lips, two blushing pilgrims, read stand_

 _To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss._

 _ **Juliet:** Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much._

 _Which mannerly devotion shows in this,_

 _For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch._

 _And palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss._

 _ **Romeo:** Have not saints lips, and holy palmers, too?_

 _ **Juliet:** Aye, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer._

 _ **Romeo:** O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;_

 _They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair._

 _ **Juliet:** Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake._

 _ **Romeo:** Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take._

And without warning, Nott grabbed Hermione, dipped her backwards over his knee, and shoved his tongue down her throat.

[ ]

The Muggle Studies classroom had never seen such an uproar before; or, to be honest, since.

Amongst the gasps, wolf-whistles and shrieks from the audience (fellow students), one could just make out Professor Clarence shrieking 'Mr Nott! MR NOTT! That will not do! Un…tongue Miss Granger at once!'

Malfoy leapt up, not caring how it would look to slaughter Nott in front of dozens of witnesses.

But it was Ron's turn to save the day.

With an almighty roar, he leapt upon Nott, wrenching him upwards, just as Hermione introduced her knee to Nott's crown jewels.

His howl of pain ricocheted throughout the castle. Even in the Potions classroom, languishing in the dungeons, Nott's agony was experienced as a collective shudder by the boys (and Professor Snape).

While Professor Clarence, Zabini, Harry, Dean and Seamus tried to prise an irate Ron off Nott's whimpering form, Hermione found herself flat on her back on the floor, winded from Nott's sudden abandonment of her body.

A blonde god loomed over her, his hair glinting in the light streaming from the classroom's stained glass windows.

''Mione? You okay?' Malfoy whispered, looking worried.

She took a deep breath. 'Yeah, I'm fine.' He helped her sit up. 'Although I could do with a glass of water to wash my mouth free of Essence of Nott.'

'Got it.' Leaving Lavender and Parvati to help her all the way up (who both wanted to know if Nott was a good kisser) he headed to the classroom door just as it opened, heralding Professor McGonagall's appearance.

'Professor Clarence, must play rehearsals be this…energetic?'

Professor Clarence whirled around, her witches' hat askew. 'Uh, yes, Professor McGonagall,' she replied shakily. 'We're, um, rehearsing the fight scene for the play.'

'Really?' One of Professor McGonagall's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. 'If there's a fight scene, I can't imagine either the Slytherin or Gryffindor students requiring much rehearsal time. Still, you know best.'

Then she transfigured her way back to her classroom (four paws are faster than two feet, as you know).

Professor Clarence mopped her brow, straightened her hat, then found her spine. 'Right! Someone take Mr Nott to the infirmary. Mr Weasley, I cannot even comprehend how many detentions you have earned for your actions – '

'But I was trying to save Hermione!' Ron protested, tie missing, shiner developing.

'Very chivalrous of you, but there was no need to strangle Mr Nott half to death! Now, given that we still have two more Romeo auditions to go, can I trust you not to engage in a repeat performance?'

'He can try,' Zabini growled, eyes narrowed.

'Of course, Professor Clarence!' Ron said passionately.

She glared at him. 'That was a rhetorical question. Please relocate yourself to Professor Dumbledore's office for the duration of this lesson.'

'But – '

'OUT!' roared the diminutive Professor.

As Ron collected his stuff and slunk out, the Professor turned to Hermione. 'How are you, dear?'

Hermione chugged back the water that Malfoy got her. 'Perfectly well, thank you Professor. Shall we continue?'

Clarence shed a tear of admiration for Miss Granger's professionalism, and settled back in her seat. 'Right. Mr Zabini, please join Miss Granger on stage AND THERE WILL BE NO MORE FUNNY BUSINESS, DO YOU HEAR ME?!' she hollered to the rest of the class.

They all nodded as one.

'Mr Zabini, from 'If I profane', please.'

Zabini turned to Hermione, and bowed courteously.

His performance was more muted than Nott's, but it was far more professional. After he spoke the line 'Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take,' he took Hermione's hand, and kissed it.

His performance was slightly marred by the leering wink he lobbed at her.

Yet Hermione still found herself blushing.

The critics (Gryffindors) in the audience were impressed despite themselves, and clapped along with the enthusiastic Slytherins.

'Wonderful, Mr Zabini!' the Professor gushed. 'Oh, that might be hard to top! Now… ah, yes! Mr Malfoy, please take centre stage, and start from 'If I profane' when you're ready.'

Malfoy stood up, showing no fear. Even though Blaise's performance was pretty good, and if he fucked up his audition, this whole plan would collapse, and he'd have to put up with Blaise snogging and feeling up Hermione in front of the whole school.

Hell, no. That is not an option.

Thank Merlin he and Hermione had rehearsed.

[ ]

He knew the words by heart, but took his script with him. Instead of standing opposite Hermione and not moving as Nott and Zabini did, he took up a relaxed pose behind Hermione as his starting position, leaning against Professor Clarence's desk.

Malfoy stepped up to stand just behind Hermione, causing her to gasp softly. He took her hand and twined his fingers with hers. _If I profane with my unworthiest hand, this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, read stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss._

Hermione smiled, and turned her head to the side to respond, her eyes demurely lowered. _Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much. Which mannerly devotion shows in this, for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch. And palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss._

 _Have not saints lips, and holy palmers, too?_ Malfoy asked in a light, teasing tone.

Hermione was coy. _Ay, pilgrim, lips they must use in prayer._

Malfoy moved to stand in front of her, urging _O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; they pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair._

Hermione raised her head to meet his, and bit her bottom lip softly. _Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake._

Oh, she was so wet for him right now. Draco the lover was sizzling hot; but Draco the actor was… sublime.

Malfoy held her chin and brushed his thumb over Hermione's bottom lip. Dimly he heard intakes of breath from the girls at this intimate gesture. He dropped his script, took her face in both hands, and bringing his lips close to hers, murmured _Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take._

They didn't kiss. Instead, Malfoy chastely pecked her on the cheek; then looked up to discover silence.

He and Hermione looked at each other, worried; then at their audience.

Every single person's mouth was hanging open.

Then Zabini, smiling sardonically, started clapping.

The rest of the audience broke out of their trance and enthusiastically joined in.

Professor Clarence joyfully proclaimed that the title roles would go to Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger.

Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger sighed in relief as everyone packed up and headed to their next class.


	7. Chapter 7

Weeks, then months marched through the year. Slowly but surely, pockets of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry transformed into 16th century Verona.

Having sorted out the casting for the play, Professor Clarence caused a ripple when she informed the actors that this play would be produced as God (i.e. Shakespeare) intended, which meant NO MAGIC. With Mr Weasley in the cast, she didn't want to take any chances.

(However, she was happy to accommodate the house-elves' humble request to help with set construction and scene changes. They were so ecstatic they burnt that evening's dinner to a crisp. When meant more work for them, making them even happier than ecstatic.)

Anyway, instead of conducting the fight scenes as wand duels, Professor Clarence informed the class they would be conducted with swords.

Yup. Swords.

Romeo (Draco), his close friends Mercutio (Blaise) and Benvolio (Theo), Tybalt (Harry), an angry Capulet, servant Balthazar (Ron, as mentioned) and all the other gentlemen extras who were allocated swords (for decoration) spent many hours practicing sword-play among their Houses (Gryffindor and Slytherin), against each other's Houses, and up and down the corridors and stairways of Hogwarts, much to the fright of the non-sword-wielding population ensconced therein.

Thus, Hogwarts was briefly subjected to the rule of the sword, until Professor Snape, marking assignments in the dungeons, threw down his quill in disgust, rose from his desk and stomped down the corridor, collaring the first two duellists he could find (Crabbe and Goyle, of course).

Disarming them with a glower and fastening them, spread-eagled, to the corridor wall with a flick of his wand, he touched his wand to his throat and broadcasted: 'EVERY STUDENT ALLOCATED A SWORD FOR THIS RIDICULOUS PLAY GO TO THE QUIDDITCH PITCH NOW!'

All the way up in the Muggle Studies classroom, even Professor Clarence quaked, and fought the temptation to hide under her desk.

She was having enough trouble with her Fourth-Year class as it was.

* * *

A suitably-chastened selection of Gryffindor and Slytherin's finest male seniors assembled at the Quidditch Pitch in a line before the fuming Professor Snape.

'Is this it?' he barked.

Draco peered down the line and nodded. 'It is, sir.'

'Are you sure?' Snape glared at Harry. 'Is Mr Longbottom meant to be here?'

'Uh, no sir, he's Friar Lawrence. He hasn't got a sword.'

'Well, thank Salazar for that, at least,' Snape muttered.

He walked down the line of boys, his robes flapping with menace behind him.

'Never in all my years at Hogwarts have I seen such catastrophe wrought at the hands of a collection of utter nincompoops!' he spat. 'This behaviour may be acceptable in Gryffindor quarters' (whose representatives collectively eye-rolled at the remark, but only when Snape was safely past them) 'but I never thought I would see such hooliganism in the House of Slytherin! Every single one of you should be hanging your heads in shame!'

Heads were dutifully lowered to the acceptable level of shame.

Snape permitted himself the indulgence of a good rant in the open air for a solid fifteen minutes until even he could tell he was starting to lose their attention. Stopping in front of Ron, Snape imperiously held out his hand.

Ron looked at him blankly.

'Your sword, for Merlin's sake!' snapped Snape.

'Oh. Gotcha.' Ron held his sword out to the Potions Professor, holding on to the hilt.

Snape eyed the pointy end of the sword, seeing as it was directed straight at him, then gave Ron a look that would have withered stone.

'Lesson number one!' Snape bellowed to the assembly. 'When proffering your sword to another person, you proffer it hilt-first, NOT POINT-FIRST AS MR WEASLEY IS DEMONSTRATING!'

Reddening, Ron shifted his grip and proffered the sword to Professor Snape correctly.

'Even I knew that,' muttered Crabbe to Draco, who received that statement with scepticism.

Snape inspected Ron's sword with a grimace that looked like a very bad smell was wafting under his impressive nose. Testing its weight, he muttered 'Where the hell did these slabs of pig-iron come from?'

'Professor Clarence gave them to us,' Ron said helpfully.

Resisting with all his might not to impale the Ginger Twit on his own sword for stating the obvious (one of Snape's many pet peeves), blunt as it may be, Snape gritted his teeth, faced the assembled boys, and pulled back the side of his teaching robes to reveal an impressive, shiny épée (fencing sword) with a filigree silver wraparound guard.

'Woah,' the group said as one.

'Some of you' (he said, glancing at Draco) 'may be aware that when I attended university I excelled in wizard duelling. To that point, I was encouraged to study the Muggle tradition of fencing, the origins of which go back at least five hundred years. Which is old, for them. I am, of course, not talking about erecting a fence around a house –' he glared at the Purebloods and Halfbloods who knew what a fence looked like but weren't sure where the sword-fighting fitted in – 'but fencing, as in sword play.'

He suddenly whipped his épée out of its scabbard and thrust it forward in an attack, extending his arm out smartly until the point of his sword connected with an unsuspecting Seamus's chest.

Seamus shrieked and leapt behind Harry, who wasn't pleased to find himself in the role of human shield. The Purebloods and Halfbloods instantly took a large step backward.

Behind Harry, Seamus patted down his chest and cried 'I'm alive!' while the Muggle students sniggered behind their hands.

'Get out from behind Potter's skirts, Finnegan,' Snape snapped. 'As for the rest of you, who ordered you to move?'

The Purebloods and Halfbloods shuffled forward.

'The tip of this sword is blunted, just like yours, although in my case, it is blunted for reasons other than neglect and ignorance. Fencing is an art. The object is not to slaughter your opponent through brute force and lucky shots, it is to win points against your opponent by merely making contact with them.

'There are rules' – everyone groaned – 'and you will find those rules will be very appropriate when staging the fight scenes in this play. Since there is no-one else capable of moulding you ramshackle lot into something vaguely resembling 16th century courtiers, I will take it upon myself to instruct you in the art of fencing.'

Snape did not expect applause, but he was secretly gratified to see the looks of amazement on the faces of his new students.

'However, before we begin, everyone proffer their swords to me – properly.'

Everyone dutifully complied, and watched with eyes bugging out in amazement as Professor Snape reached for his wand and transfigured them into elegant, shining épées.

They gripped the swords' hand grips and were just about to test them out on each other when Snape hollered 'Hold it!'

They all slowly turned back to the Potions Master.

'In order to avoid, or perhaps just reduce, the inevitable accidents and injuries,' he said, rolling his eyes at Weasley who managed to point his épée at Nott's left eye, 'you will be required to wear protective clothing until such time as you can demonstrate to me that you are to be trusted with a weapon. If you cannot, you are out of the play. I will make certain Professor Clarence will understand the importance of safety over entertainment.'

Weasley and Potter looked downcast, and secretly vowed to practice every day.

'Face me, please.'

Snape flicked his wand again, and soon every boy was clad in a fencing jacket, plastron (which protects the sword arm), gloves, breeches, mask and chest protector – in Gryffindor or Slytherin colours, of course.

'Much better,' said Snape, scrutinising each student. 'Now I can't see your faces.' He clapped his hands together. 'Everyone pair up, a good distance from another pair. We shall begin with the basic attack and defensive position. Watch me, and learn.'

* * *

Much, much later, Draco dragged himself up the Head Dorm stairs to his bedroom. He fell face-first into the bed with an almighty groan of relief.

Hermione was in said bed, reading a book. She peered over the top of it at her completely knackered lover.

'How'd it go, then?'

'Su-fucking-perb,' muttered Draco, his voice muffled by his pillow.

'Is that a good 'superb' or a sarcastic 'superb?'

Draco heaved himself over so he was facing up. 'Hard to tell. I think 'good'. Everyone got a thorough grounding in the basics of fencing. Snape reconfigured the swords so they're less cumbersome, and I think he's going to insist to Professor Clarence that he sets out the fight scenes.'

Hermione knew him all too well. 'But…?'

Draco moaned. 'He's such a sadistic fucking taskmaster!'

Hermione laughed, and Draco shot her an evil look, as best he could, even though his very eyeballs hurt.

Schooling her features, she put her book away and kissed Draco tenderly. 'You look rather tired, darling,' she said sympathetically.

'Understatement of the fucking century.'

She pouted half-heartedly. 'Too tired to make love to your woman, then?'

'Sorry, love. Even the thought of trying to get a hard-on makes me want to cry.'

'That's okay.' She kissed his forehead and swept back his just-washed hair off his forehead before returning to her book. 'You just owe me, that's all.'

Draco's last thought before exhaustion overtook him was 'What the hell does that mean?'

* * *

Romeo and Tybalt had some important swordfight scenes, so in order to leap Snape's new hurdle of his safety exam, Draco and Potter thought it would be prudent to practice together.

Snape consulted with Professor Clarence on the fight scenes' requirements, and he was slowly teaching the two boys the steps he had in mind for it to be a success. Snape didn't say in so many words that he found them unhazardous, but his starting to teach them the steps must have meant that he could trust each other not to poke eyes, or other parts of each other's anatomy, when not wearing the protective clothing.

Which was pretty good, considering their past.

Potter and Draco usually continued practicing after Snape had stopped torturing the group, and as of late they'd taken to grabbing a couple of practice brooms from the Quidditch Pitch's equipment shed and going for a fly around the pitch to cool off.

At the end of one fencing session, where Snape viewed the pair with a gimlet eye and judged them to be 'acceptable', Potter said 'Do you mind if we skip the extra practice tonight and get on the brooms? There's something I need to talk to you about.'

'Okay,' said Draco, but he was wary. He enjoyed sparring with Potter, he was Draco's equal in fencing as he was in flying, and while they hadn't fought in some time, they still bickered regularly. Having an actual conversation with Potter, who looked a bit nervous, was sailing into uncharted waters. 'But just so you know,' Draco said, 'I'm straight, so if you're working up the courage to ask me out, I'm gonna have to stop you here.'

Potter, walking to the equipment shed, snorted. 'I'm quite happy with Ginny, thanks all the same.'

'Yeah, but her package will never be as impressive as mine.'

'Jesus.' Potter grabbed a broom and thrust it at a grinning Draco. 'Let's get up, already. I don't want anyone to hear this.'

The kicked off, and circled the pitch a few times until the met in the middle of the pitch, high up above the stands.

'Well, Potter, I'm intrigued. What's all the mystery about?'

Potter sighed, then looked at Draco with an expression that was almost sad.

'Do you love Hermione?' he asked.

Draco was so surprised that nearly fell off the broom. 'Merlin's shrivelled balls, Potter, are you trying to kill me?'

'No,' Potter replied calmly. 'If you fell, I'd have to rescue you. Hermione would slaughter me otherwise.'

Still, Draco couldn't trust him. 'I dunno what you're on about, mate.'

'All right.' Potter turned his broom so he faced Draco directly. 'She hasn't told me anything. But I've known her for over seven years, and she's changed. Not significantly. Most people wouldn't know. Ron should know, but subtlety is too subtle for him. Once or twice I've asked her what's made her mellow out a bit, no longer imprison herself in the library, be a little more cheeky, but she won't say. But I figured it out when I saw you and Hermione try out for the Romeo and Juliet parts.'

'What do you mean?' Draco asked, his mouth dry. 'We did nothing. I didn't even kiss her, like those other dickheads.'

'Yeah. But when you held her face, at the end of the lines, she looked at you the way Ginny looks at me. And don't say it's just acting. You need to experience that feeling to reproduce it. Your expression, even though it was fleeting, showed that you feel about 'Mione the way I feel about Ginny. I love her. With all my heart. I know people think we're too young, but I know. And so I ask you again: do you love Hermione?'

It was too late to fly away. There was nothing for Draco to say but 'Yeah. A lot.'

Potter nodded to himself. 'She loves you, too. More than she did Ron. Or maybe differently.'

'I should bloody well hope so.' Draco's pride was still healthy.

Then Potter surprised him for the second time that evening. 'I think you two are good for each other. Once you get over all the previous years of animosity, of course. Obviously you two did.'

'We don't think a lot of people will. That's why we haven't said anything.'

Potter smiled. 'People can change.'

'Yeah, we hope so.' Draco hesitated, then held out his hand and said 'Thanks, man.'

Potter returned the handshake with a smile. 'Of course, if you hurt her, I'm gonna have to kill you.'

Draco laughed. 'You and whose army?'

'I'll muster one up. But it will be easier for both of us if you don't hurt her.'

'True.' Draco was about to descend when he asked 'Can I tell her that you know? I think she'd like it if she knew there's at least one person on our team.'

'Yeah, 'course. Do you think she'd want Ginny to know?'

'You haven't told her?' Draco was surprised.

'This is between you and Hermione. It's your call.'

Draco thought. 'I think I should talk to her and let you know.'

'All right.'

They were done. Draco slowly turned his broom around, then suddenly dove to the ground, shouting 'Race ya!'

Potter was unprepared. 'You cheating Slytherin bastard! A pox on your House, mate!' he hollered, and raced after him.


	8. Chapter 8

**01/15/17 Updated to fix Theo Nott's name. Forgive me, Theo!**

* * *

But what about the girls, I hear you ask? While the boys were running around poking each other with swords, were the senior damsels of Gryffindor and Slytherin just suspended in aspic or something?

Of course not. That would be both gross and a complete waste of aspic.

Call it trite. Call it sexist. Call the author a no-talent hack lacking in imagination. But while the boys were being put through their paces by an inwardly gleeful but outwardly scowling Professor Snape, the ladies bonded over a common project: costumes.

* * *

Professor Clarence, always helpful but sometimes clueless, called the ladies to her classroom one morning in a higher state of excitement than usual. They arrived to find the Professor dancing around a large, heavy steamer trunk.

'Wonderful! You're all here!' she trilled. 'I've been lucky enough to secure authentic 16th century costumes that were actually used by actors performing at the Globe Theatre, my dears! Isn't that exciting?'

All heads swivelled to Hermione, who muttered 'A theatre in London where Shakespeare put on his plays, back in the early 1600s.'

Pansy Parkinson wrinkled her nose. 'You mean the clothes in that trunk are hundreds of years old?'

'Yes!' Professor Clarence gushed, Pansy's tone sailing way over her head. 'Oh, it will be so exciting to use these costumes! Imagine, they might have been worn by the very men who put on Romeo and Juliet for the first time! Why, there could even be a pair of hose and breeches that William Shakespeare himself wore!' Professor Clarence's mouth and eyes were round with awe.

'Merlin, I hope they've been washed since then,' murmured Parvati Patil to Millicent Bulstrode, who snorted.

'Well!' The Professor clapped her hands. 'Without further ado, I present – ' She threw open the trunk lid with a flourish, gagged, and took a large step back, as did everyone else.

'Merlin's tits, what on earth is that smell?' gasped Lavender Brown.

'Language, Miss Brown!' scolded Professor Clarence faintly.

'It's camphor,' Hermione said in between coughs. 'It's used by Muggles to keep moths from eating clothes.'

Daphne Greengrass folded her arms and stuck her nose up in the air. 'I'm not wearing anything smelling like that.'

'Not to worry, dear. With a little airing, the smell will go away. Now, let's take a look…' Holding her breath, she took a step closer to the trunk, and with a wave of her wand, the costumes unfolded themselves and rose sedately from the trunk, rising until they spun slowly around the ladies in mid-air.

'Oh–' stuttered Pansy.

'My–' continued Millicent.

'Godric,' finished Lavender.

'You're right, girls,' whispered Professor Clarence. 'Aren't they beautiful?'

Not for the first time, the girls wondered just how much sanity Professor Clarence was still clinging to. For surely if sanity was a cliff, she was hanging on by just one pinky finger.

Hermione could feel a headache coming on as she stared at the costumes. The dresses and tunics were made from heavy brocades and velvets, and the colours were boring, boring, boring. The audience would fall asleep if they had to watch the performers in these rags.

Juliet's dress contained a wired Elizabethan half-moon ruff so gigantic that Hermione was certain she would spend the entire play trying not to topple backwards onto the stage floor, less the audience receive a view of her unmentionables, if they could find them beneath the acres of petticoats.

And she was absolutely certain there was nothing in her recently-acquired sexual repertoire that could convince Lord Draco-Dedicated-Follower-of-Fashion-Malfoy to wear a drab, smelly and unfashionable doublet, not to mention putting his legs on display for all to see in a pair of scratchy hose.

Even if they did once contain the bollocks of the Bard.

Oh, Gods.

As Professor Clarence oohed and aahed over the floating monstrosities, Hermione felt the unmistakable prickle of multiple pairs of eyes boring into the back of her head. Clamping down a sigh, she turned around and met the girls' glares with one of her own.

'We're not wearing these,' mouthed Pansy.

'Agreed,' mouthed Parvati.

'Tell her,' mouthed Daphne, with menace, nodding curtly in the Professor's direction.

'Why me?' mouthed Hermione in annoyance.

'Teacher's pet,' mouthed Pansy, snippily.

'Please, Mione.' Lavender's silent plea contained a lot of desperation.

She knew they were right. Glancing once more at the offending clothing, she cleared her throat and said 'Professor Clarence, I think we may have an, um – evolutionary – problem with the costumes.'

'Eh? What's that, dear?' Professor Clarence had selected an Elizabethan dress in a hideous mustard yellow that resembled that resembled a padded quilt and was holding it up against her body.

'Well, it looks like Shakespeare's Players were smaller, back in those days. Lack of vitamins, maybe.'

The girls started speculating how much sanity of Hermione's own sanity was worth holding on to.

'Most probably, my dear. But I think this one would fit me quite well.'

'I'm sure it would Professor (except you're not in the bloody play, are you?' Hermione muttered under her breath), 'but you and I, particularly, are not blessed with the long limbs of, say, Daphne, for example.'

Daphne stared at Hermione in horror while Professor Clarence studied her lithe and shapely form thoughtfully.

'Well, only one way to find out,' she said philosophically. 'Here you go, dear.' She thrust the mustard monstrosity at Daphne. 'Try it on, and we'll see if it fits.'

The look Daphne threw at Hermione could have blistered paint, but (holding it between two fingers at arm's length) she handed the dress over to Pansy (who received it with two fingers at arm's length) and started loosening her tie.

As expected, even with much huffing and puffing and holding in of breath from Daphne, Professor Clarence had to concede that, despite the gown's narrow sleeves hoiked up to Daphne's elbows, it would take a miracle – or magic – to get the stylised straitjacket to lace up behind without leaving a lot of flesh to be desired by all and sundry. And lovely flesh it was, too. Also, the floor-length hem of the dress stopped at her knees.

'Oh, what a pity,' Professor Clarence tutted. 'Well, best take it off, dear, we don't want to rip it.'

Daphne broke _the Guinness World Book of Records_ time for the fastest costume change. Whipping out her wand, she pointed it at herself and yelped _'Scourgify!'_ over and over until she reached acceptable Greengrass levels of cleanliness and smelliness.

'Maybe the other girls…' began Professor Clarence hopefully, but her sentence dwindled when she realised, looking at the line-up, that Hermione was probably the only girl out of the female cast that would fit into the ancient relics.

Her bottom lip wobbled.

Hermione hated to see the old gal upset, and raised her hand. 'I have a suggestion, Professor Clarence.'

The Professor nodded half-heartedly.

'These costumes are an important part of Shakespearian history. I think they deserve to be seen up close by people, rather than seen from a distance on stage. What do you think about putting on an exhibition of the costumes in the foyer of the theatre (a.k.a. the antechamber leading to the Great Hall), with information about their history, what plays they might have been used in, things like that? Lots of students don't know anything about Shakespeare. It might be nice to give them something to immerse themselves in before seeing the play.'

Professor Clarence looked at Hermione as if she were the Virgin Mary, Jesus and the Archangel Gabriel all rolled into one. 'Outstanding suggestion, Miss Granger! Twenty points to Gryffindor!'

The other girls heaved a quiet and collective sigh of relief.

'But what are we going to do for costumes now?'

'We'll make them!' Daphne said eagerly, heartily backed up by the others.

'We'll design them, make them, sort out make-up and hair – it'll be fantastic!' gushed Parvati.

'Oh, well, if you think you can,' said Professor Clarence, wavering.

'Can we use magic to make the costumes?' Daphne asked hopefully.

The Professor sighed. 'If you must,' she conceded. 'Honestly, this is a Muggle Studies project. Is it too much to ask that students engage in Muggle activities once in a while?'

'We won't imbue the costumes with any magical charms, Professor. But none of us know how to sew the Muggle way, so this is really the only option,' said Hermione. Then she brightened. 'Unless we buy them on the Internet.'

Professor Clarence's face clearly demonstrated what she thought of that suggestion.

Hermione didn't care. It was good to see the Gryffindor and Slytherin girls huddled together excitedly, making plans.

'Well, then girls, it's agreed,' said the Professor happily. You will take charge of costumes, and I will see about organising an exhibition.' She winked at Hermione, then skipped out of the room, humming a tune.

'Okay, everyone. How about we meet in the Heads' common room after dinner and work out the details? Firewhiskey's on me.' Gods, Hermione needed it.

The girls cheered and rushed out of the classroom as one, Hermione trudging tiredly behind.

* * *

Later that night, Draco stepped into the common room, fresh from his post-duelling shower, and raised a blonde eyebrow at its state. An empty bottle of Firewhiskey had toppled over by the fireplace. Every glass their kitchen possessed was scattered around the common room. Stray crumpled-up balls of paper, colouring pencils and shimmery things he didn't want to look too closely at littered the coffee table. The _pi_ _è_ _ce de r_ _é_ _sistance_ was his beautiful Hermione, sprawled across the couch rather like a mermaid that had been washed up onto some rocks.

'I'll clean it,' the mermaid mumbled.

'I'm more than happy to do so, my dulcet dove,' Draco remarked, getting his wand out. 'If I do, does that mean I've paid you back?'

'Paid me back?' Hermione muttered, furrowing her brow. 'Oh!' She sat up straight, more alert than Draco would have given her credit for. 'Oh, no.'

Draco slumped down on the couch next to her. 'In that case, do your own cleaning, wench.'

She stuck out her tongue at him, but pulled out her own wand and swished it about some.

Draco stretched and wrapped an arm around his girlfriend. 'Did you have a party and forget to invite me?'

She rolled her eyes. 'Just a little inter-house unity. Ladies night.'

'Don't tell me it was a pyjama party?' he asked in mock outrage. 'That the common room was filled with girls in skimpy negligees and you failed to notify me?'

Hermione arched an eyebrow of her own. 'Am I not doing enough to satisfy your one-track mind and deviant imagination? Would you prefer to chase Lavender or Millicent around this couch instead?'

'Er…' Draco turned a little green at the thought.

'Thought so,' said Hermione smugly.

He opened his mouth to deliver a clever retort when she hopped off the couch and, leaning forward, put her fingers to his lips.

'You need to pay me,' she said coyly.

'My wallet's outlined by the bulge in my pants. Well. The other bulge,' he smirked.

She smirked back. 'One of those bulges doesn't interest me at all.'

Draco spread his arms wide. 'Whatever my lady wants.'

She smiled. 'Good.'

Then, in a blink of an eye, Draco found his arms tethered to the couch with green silk scarves.

He whipped his head left, then right, then at the witch standing in front of him, with her hands on her hips and a saucy pout shaping her pretty mouth.

'What?' she said. 'They're green, at least.'

A slow grin shaped Draco's features. 'Wandless and wordless spells, Granger?' he murmured. 'Every day, you surprise me.'

She smiled and snapped her fingers, and a bowl of ice cubes appeared on the coffee table, sparkling prettily.

She slowly leaned forward and undid the buttons to his shirt. She pulled the shirt apart to reveal his toned chest and stomach.

'Nice,' she said musingly. 'But everything below the belt has to go.'

Draco willingly lifted up his hips so that Hermione could work his clothes free. He was already hard and at attention.

'What about you?' Draco asked hopefully.

She shook her head condescendingly. 'No, love. You're paying me, remember?'

Not breaking eye contact, she reached behind her and pulled an ice cube from the bowl.

She displayed it, up close, for Draco to examine it. 'Cold,' she whispered.

'I don't doubt it for a second, love.'

As she held the cube in her fingers, drops of icy water slowly slid over them and meandered leisurely down her hand. She licked them up slowly, watching Draco the whole time.

He shuddered in desire.

Then, she upturned the ice cube, and the chilly water dripped, drop by drop, onto Draco's torso.

He hissed. Merlin's bollocks, the droplets were fucking freezing.

Then Hermione bent to him, and licked and kissed the water from his skin.

Draco, his head tipped back, squirmed in increasing desire. His dick was begging for attention, but it wasn't getting diddly.

Torturous bliss…

''Mione, baby, darling, my only love, you're killing me,' he gritted, as Hermione guided the water droplets ever further down his chest to his abdomen. 'Touch me, or something bad will happen. To me.'

Just like that, the water torture ceased. Then a warm hand gripped his aching cock and pumped it up and down. 'Like this?' she whispered.

His hips bucked like they had a mind of their own. 'Gods yes, love. More.'

'More?' she breathed in his ear.

'Yes, damn it! You're gonna give me a serious medical condition if you don't watch it.'

Hermione laughed, a lovely sound that sounded like little bells. 'Don't worry, D,' she assured him. 'If I break you, I can't play with you anymore. And I like playing with you.'

Gods, Draco loved this agonising woman.

'I want to suck your cock until you come,' she whispered.

'I want that too,' he panted.

'Good.'

Draco groaned at the initial bliss of her lips forming over his erection. Then he howled when his cock came into contact with bone-chilling ice. When his mind cleared, he realised that his little minx was working her mouth down his cock – with an ice cube in her mouth.

The shock of the cold soon wore off, as the heat of Hermione's mouth and his skin worked to melt the cube, and the water warmed to body temperature. She swirled the water around his cock as she bobbed her head up and down, while nonsensical words and grunts of agonised pleasure spilled from his mouth.

She repeated the exquisite torture three more times before she decided he'd paid enough. He'd broken out in a sweat, and his bucking hips forced more of his cock into her mouth and throat. She worked the base of his cock with her hand as she sucked him hard, just how he liked it. Soon, he exploded into her mouth while he gasped his release to the heavens.

Later, in bed, as he pushed her hair gently back from her sleepy face, he whispered 'How come I had to pay, but I was the one that got the orgasm?'

Hermione gently kissed him. 'You're an idiot,' she smiled.

* * *

The next morning, after an early round of gentle, wake-up sex with Draco, Hermione was sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, dreamily dunking her tea bag and thinking of silver eyes when a whirl of red hair and school books hove into view.

Ginny plonked herself and her books next to Hermione, and with a look on her face that only the foolhardiest would dare fuck with, announced 'I know what Lavender and Parvati are working on. It's brilliant. It's awesome. And I want in.'

Hermione peeked over at Harry, who'd just sat down opposite them. The expression on his face plainly said 'Deny her at your peril.'

She'd been half expecting Ginny's imperious demand anyway. Sharing a dorm with Lavender and Parvati meant it would be next to impossible for her to not find out even a little of what they were working on. Those two couldn't keep a secret if their sex lives depended on it. Also, Ginny herself was certainly no duffer at fashion, and she could create miracles out of Hermione's hair, even without a wand.

'Besides,' Ginny continued, pleased to have an audience with someone who appeared to be struck dumb, 'I know everything there is to know about the play. Harry's always spouting out strange combinations of words at the most inopportune moments. Not to mention having to put up with Lav and Parvati practicing their lines day in, day out. My skills in fashion, hair and make-up are indisputable. I was born to be on the costume design team. And you know it.'

Hermione did, but it wasn't up to her. She affected a huge put-upon sigh, and said in a voice that would have convinced anyone that her arm was being physically, rather than metaphorically twisted, said 'Okay, you're welcome to join the team, _if_ –' she waggled her finger at an already jubilant Ginny – 'Professor McGonagall says it's okay and it doesn't interfere with your studies.'

'Brilliant! Thank you thank you thank you!' Ginny lit up like a skyrocket and danced around the Gryffindor table to where Lavender and Parvati were sitting. Shortly after, the three of them rushed to the Slytherin table and sat next to the Slytherin designers, ousting Theo, Blaise and Draco, who shrugged and headed over to sit with Hermione and Harry.

'Um, did she hear the bit where I said she had to get Professor McGonagall's permission?' Hermione asked Harry.

Harry shrugged, shovelling scrambled eggs into his mouth.

The Slytherin boys parked themselves at the Gryffindor table and started helping themselves.

'Mistress, what cheer?' greeted Blaise to Hermione, while pouring himself a gigantic cup of coffee.

'I fare well, enough,' responded Hermione with a grin. 'Messrs Nott and Malfoy: good dawning to thee.'

'Very good dawning, indeed,' replied Draco with a smirk, dodging Hermione's narrow look.

They executed bows, while Ron, who was wading his way through a bowl of porridge, muttered 'You're all nuts,' around a spoon dripping with oats and honey.

Hermione and Harry looked apologetically at the Slytherin boys, who all look revolted at the sight of Ron's mastication. 'We keep telling him not to talk with his mouth full,' Hermione said.

With extreme difficulty, Draco bit down on the sarcastic riposte that surely a savage raised in a pigsty would have better table manners than Weasley, and with a dark glance to Theo and Zabini, made sure they kept their yaps shut, too.

The quick smile from Hermione was almost worth it.

'So, what's cooking at the Slytherin table?' asked Theo as he spread some jam on a piece of toast. 'There's an air of delightful girlish glee where extreme coolness once prevailed.'

Giggles burst forth from the Slytherin table.

'They're on a mission to save us from public humiliation,' explained Hermione. 'We saw the costumes Professor Clarence wanted us to wear, and let's just say, they needed improvement.'

'Yeah? How?' from Blaise.

'Back in Shakespeare's day, standard dress for women was to wear so many items of clothing only the woman's face and hands could be seen. On the other hand, the men wore breeches and skin-tight hose that plainly showed their legs… depending on how short the breeches were.' Hermione took a sip of tea. 'Either way, they were fucking hideous and stank to high heaven and we've done you all a decent favour by convincing Professor Clarence to do the costumes ourselves.'

'Hmm.' Blaise wasn't convinced. 'You'd better make sure they don't design costumes for the guys that require our bare assess to be seen at all times.'

Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Theo and Draco spat out their drinks.

Hermione scoffed. 'I'm sure they wouldn't…' She glanced over at the Slytherin table, to find the costume team looking at the Slytherin and Gryffindor boys with a concerning degree of speculation. Then they all started giggling.

Hermione turned back to her tea. 'Yeah, I'll tell them,' she murmured.

* * *

At the Teachers' Table, Professor Dumbledore watched the comings and goings between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables with a smile. 'Exactly what I want I see,' the wise man chuckled.

'Hmm,' said Professor McGonagall.

'Hmph,' said Professor Snape.

* * *

In the seniors' Muggle Studies class, after Professor Clarence took the usual five minutes to get everyone to shut up and pay attention, she happily informed them there were two announcements about the play. She nodded to Parvati, who rose from her seat and skipped to the front of the classroom.

'A team of fashion-conscious students has been assembled to design and make the costumes for the play,' she announced proudly. 'In addition, we will also co-ordinate hairstyles and make-up.

'Shortly, we will come around to measure everyone for their costumes – the Muggle way,' she added, glancing at a beaming Professor Clarence. 'The costumes themselves will be made using magic but they won't contain any magic in themselves. And for those of you who have costume changes, they will happen the Muggle way – no transfiguration whatsoever.'

She glanced around the classroom for questions, but half the class already knew the details, and the other half were boys.

'One last thing: guys, the general fashion for men in Shakespeare's day was to have a moustache and goatee beard. For those of you that wouldn't know fashion from a kick in the pants, I will demonstrate.' She nodded at Goyle. 'May I?'

'Huh?' said Goyle.

With a wave of her wand, Parvati cast a spell on Goyle's face, and a neat and tidy moustache and goatee sprouted over the boy's upper lip and chin.

'Bloody hell!' Goyle, who'd been paying attention to Parvati's breasts rather than her speech, leapt up from his desk in shock.

Parvati quickly whipped him around to display to the class.

The feedback was positive. The beard quite suited Goyle's round face, and he received some speculative looks from girls who would ordinarily rather poke out their eyes with a sharp stick than give him the time of day. The boys examined Goyle's new facial attire and considered it, on the whole, to be acceptably cool.

'Excellent!' Parvati spun Goyle back around, shoved him back in his chair, and to his utmost disappointment, removed the spell. 'We're not permitted to use magic, of course, so you will have to start growing them. The Muggle way. Now's a good time to start. Feel free to see me or any member of the costume design team if you have any questions. Thank you.'

Parvati made her way jauntily back to her desk, giving Goyle a lot to think about.

Professor Clarence hopped up from her desk, barely able to supress her happiness. 'Thank you, Miss Patil, that was wonderful!' she gushed. 'You know, you'd make an excellent teacher one day. Such mastery of class control!'

Parvati, who was thinking of becoming a paediatric Healer, smiled weakly.

'Now for my announcement!' announced Professor Clarence. 'Professor Dumbledore is very much looking forward to this play! He's asked me to tell you that he's so pleased about the play's development and co-operation between your two houses that he's invited your parents to see the play, too!'

In amongst the general hubbub of the reactionary chatter, there was a 'thump' and the sound of a body falling to the floor.

Hermione had fainted.


	9. Chapter 9

Draco saw Hermione fall, but struggled to get up from his desk, as he was feeling rather spaced out himself. He took a step towards her, but the classroom tilted sideways, and he slumped back in his chair, breathing hard and feeling nauseous.

Various thoughts fought for supremacy in his head:

I've got to get to her.

I've got to do something.

What the fuck was that interfering old bastard _thinking_?

Blaise made his way through the throng of gawkers rushing to Hermione and crouched down next to Draco. 'You all right, mate?' he asked doubtfully.

Draco gulped in some more air and closed his eyes. 'Yeah. Think I got up too fast and got light-headed.'

Blaise knew he was being fed a load of tripe, but just replied 'If you're sure,' and stood back up.

Meanwhile, Ron narrowly beat Harry in the race to get to Hermione, but his first aid skills were only limited to expleting 'Bloody hell!' over and over again and gently slapping Hermione's face, so he wasn't much help until Parvati elbowed him out of the way and checked Hermione's pulse.

'She's fainted,' she reported to the assembled company. 'She'll come around, but I think she should go to the Hospital Wing, where she'll be more comfortable.'

Professor Clarence, concern scribbled all over her face, immediately agreed and levitated Hermione's body.

'Uh, Professor…' called Harry.

'Not now, dear,' she responded, distracted.

'Malfoy doesn't look too good, either. I think he should go to Madam Pomfrey's, too.'

'Look, Potter,' Draco snarled, but stopped when he saw Harry's face.

A look passed between them.

'Uh, yeah. Come to think of it, I don't feel too well.' He hauled himself out of his chair, weaving a bit and swallowing back some bile. Blaise steadied him.

'Goodness, you don't look it either,' the Professor clucked sympathetically. 'How odd that two students immediately fall ill just like that! Oh well, come along, Mr Malfoy. Mr Zabini, can you give him a hand? Mr Potter, you're in charge until I get back. No, Mr Weasley, you cannot come with us!'

* * *

Hermione's consciousness returned a few minutes later, but she was initially nonplussed to discover that she was staring at the Hospital Wing's ceiling.

Then she remembered what happened.

She curled into a ball and moaned.

''Mione?' It sounded like Draco's voice; but scratchy, almost panicky. She scoffed to herself. Malfoys don't panic. They pay people to panic for them.

Cool, slender fingers brushed her cheek, like Draco does when she's falling asleep in his arms. Instinctively, she turned and reached her arms out. Two hands caught hers; two lips kissed them and one low, intense voice said 'It'll be okay, love.'

A polite cough sounded from another direction.

As if someone had jabbed Draco in his delicate parts with an electric cattle prod, he leapt up and stumbled backwards, making up some crap about hearing a sound and checking Granger wasn't choking on her forked tongue.

'Pft,' said Madam Pomfrey and waved her hand airily. 'The Hospital Wing is the keeper of a great many secrets. No-one else is currently admitted, and whatever I see or hear is a matter of patient confidentiality. Besides,' Madam Pomfrey leaned forward confidentially, 'I'm glad you two buried the hatchet. You make quite the striking couple.'

'Oh.' Draco was at a loss for words. 'Uh, thank you.'

'How do you feel, anyway?' she asked.

'Okay. I – we, rather, just experienced a shock. I'm more worried about Hermione,' nodding at her, who was still curled up in the foetal position and gibbering to herself.

Madam Pomfrey held Hermione's wrist and counted her pulse. 'Ms Granger, how are you feeling, dear?'

'-will never work and his parents will probably kill me and disown him and Merlin knows how my parents will react to me having a boyfriend that's not Ron and what if they find out we're lovers and will Dad kill Professor Dumbledore for allowing all to happen under his roof and what if he forces Draco to marry me and Draco doesn't want to marry me because he'll get disowned and it's way too bloody soon to think about marriage and –'

Draco and Madam Pomfrey exchanged looks – Draco's panicked to Madam's merry.

'Ms Granger!' Madam Pomfrey clapped her hands together sharply.

Hermione stopped mid-babble, and she looked up. 'Madam Pomfrey?' she whispered.

'Yes, dear. How are you feeling?'

For an un-Gryffindor-like moment, she was tempted to hide beneath the bed's soft sheets and figure out a way to portal herself to the opposite ends of the earth. Then she sighed, and pulled herself together.

'I'm feeling better, thank you,' she said despondently, pulling herself up to a sitting position. Then she looked at Draco curiously. 'Why are you here?'

'Mr Malfoy experienced a less intense but similar reaction to yours,' Madam Pomfrey said helpfully.

'Oh.' Hermione reached out and took his hand.

'Well,' said Madam Pomfrey, 'if you think you can walk unaided, I hereby prescribe you both to your common room for the rest of the day. Sounds like you two need to talk about something.'

Hermione swung her legs over the bed, and gingerly stood up. Once she made it a few paces without falling flat on her face, Madam Pomfrey nodded and waved them goodbye.

* * *

Once Blaise dropped Draco off at the Hospital Wing, he took advantage of Professor Clarence's twittering about and getting under Madam Promfrey's feet to head back to the Muggle Studies classroom under some steam.

The classroom was in the usual bedlam it quickly descends into when a teacher disappears for longer than five seconds. Harry wasn't even bothering trying to keep order, or keep the peace, aside from trying to hold Ron back from the Slytherins. Apparently, despite Draco being affected at the same time as Hermione, Ron was convinced that Slytherin was somehow responsible for her condition.

Blaise approached Harry, keeping a wide berth from Ron, whom Harry had restrained by his shirt collar. Nodding outside, he said 'A word, mate?'

Harry let Ron off the leash and followed Blaise outside.

Closing the door on the unholy din, Harry stuck his hands in his pockets and said 'Yup?'

Blaise leaned against the opposite corridor wall. 'What's with Malfoy and Granger?'

Harry flushed and found something further down the corridor considerably worthy of his interest. 'Not sure what you're on about.'

'Cut it out, Potter. I've got eyes. Ever since the auditions Malfoy's been like an overprotective mother to Granger. Well, more accurately, he's been stopping himself from acting like an overprotective mother to Granger. And yeah, I get that this play's brought our houses closer together, and we're all getting on – except for Weasley – but all you have to do is watch them together, and you can see there's a connection between them that never existed before. So. Are they together?'

Harry prevaricated. 'Why are you asking me?'

'I saw you and Malfoy look at each other when he was about to bite your head off, then he did an about-turn. Like you were telling him to go with Granger to the Hospital Wing. Right after that silly bat dropped the bomb about our parents.'

Harry stayed stubbornly silent.

Blaise sighed. 'Look, I'm not trying to cause trouble. You want my opinion? I know every single bird Malfoy brought back to the Slytherin dorm. Vacant airheads, the lot of them. Aside from the ones who wanted him for his family's money. The most meaningful conversation you get out of them is who's featured on the cover of _Witches' Weekly_ and why. He dumps them after a couple of shags because if he tries to stay with them any longer he's afraid he'll go insane and kill them. Or himself. Or every person in Hogwarts.

'He's an intelligent bloke who needs intellectual as well as physical stimulation from a woman if he's going to be with them for the long term. Granger's as intellectual as you can get, and she's a bloody beautiful bird, too. If it weren't for our houses and prior prejudices, you could say they were made for each other. So if they are together, I'm behind it. Hundred percent.'

Harry allowed a small smile to drift across his face. 'Sorry, mate. I can't tell you anything.'

Blaise noted Harry's emphasis on 'I' and nodded. 'All right.'

'Boys! What are you doing out here?' It wasn't often that Professor Clarence successfully managed to catch students unawares.

Both jumped and guiltily faced the Professor, who was tapping the floor with one foot and had her 'Your Explanation Had Better be Good' expression on her face.

'Sorry, Professor.'

'Sorry, Professor.'

'Oh, never mind, get in, get in – oh, my Gods! Mr Weasley, what are you _doing?'_

* * *

Draco slowly walked another circuit of the Heads' common room and glanced again at the woman he loved, sitting on the couch with her arms wrapped around her legs and her head buried. Patience wasn't a game that Draco was good at. He recalled some absolute hum-dingers of arguments at the beginning of their relationship because he kept pushing Hermione to say things she couldn't get her head around to say properly. Just as she did to him.

He wasn't sure if their reluctance to talk about personal things was a relationship compatibility, or incompatibility.

He checked the time. He had First Years' detention to supervise soon. He may as well go now if she couldn't communicate; it would beat standing in the common room like a spare prick at a wedding.

He cleared his throat. 'Babe, I've got First Years' detention soon – '

'Did you hear what I said when I was rambling in the Hospital Wing?'

Draco was both relieved and caught off-guard. 'Is this one of those questions where you want me to answer honestly or tactfully?'

She looked up and narrowed her eyes. 'Can't you do both?'

Draco thought about it. 'Do you want the honest or tactful answer to that question?'

'Malfoy!'

'All right!' he said. 'Going for honesty. Yes, I heard you.'

Hermione reddened. Then she said a swear word so rude that even Draco was a little shocked to hear it coming from her mouth. He was impressed nonetheless; he resolved to use that word as soon as possible; preferably on the Weasel.

He perched on the armrest of the couch. 'Shall we approach the problem logically?'

Logic? Hermione perked up a little. Yes. Quantifiable, tangible logic. Far more reliable than that waffly emotional bollocks.

'Our parents have been invited,' started Draco.

'This means one of two things can happen per parental unit,' took up Hermione. 'They attend; or they don't attend.'

'If both parental units don't attend, the problem is deferred.'

'Deferred?' Hermione looked up, confused. 'Shouldn't it be solved?'

Draco reached out and touched her cheek. 'They have to know about us sometime,' he said gently.

She blushed; he could feel her cheek warm under his fingers. 'Yeah. They do.'

He smiled, feeling his heart swell. Then he returned to the problem. 'If one or both parental units attend, we need to develop a strategy that will minimise discomfort, embarrassment, screaming matches and challenges to duels.'

'I can't imagine Lucius indulging in a screaming match.'

'I bet I could make him, if I tried.'

'Uh-huh, sure. How about we work on some strategies, instead of indulging in your narcissistic fantasies?'

'I know what I'd rather do,' he leered.

'What did I say about your one-track mind?'

Draco eased onto the couch and collected Hermione in his arms. 'We shouldn't feel guilty for doing something that isn't wrong. Yeah, it's possible, or probable, that our parents won't approve, but we're too old to be banned from seeing each other. If my parents stick to their old prejudices, they're the ones that need to examine their thinking, not us. If your parents think I'm some arrogant, stuck-up rich prick that's going to break your heart at the first opportunity, all I can do is tell them what my intentions are.'

Tears pricked at Hermione's eyes. 'What if your parents disown you?'

'We'll probably be poor, then.'

'Ha, ha. But seriously, you'd hate it.'

'Love, have some faith. We're both indecently intelligent, fabulously good-looking, and throughout school we've both made friends who will stand by us even if we're down to our last knut. In five years, probably less, we'll have taken the world by storm. We'll be okay.'

Happy tears began to splash onto Hermione's legs. 'And if my father forces us to marry?'

'Then we'll marry.'

'What?' Shocked, Hermione turned to him.

He shrugged. 'I'd rather we get married because both you and I want to marry, instead of having a… pistol wedding?'

Hermione smiled through her tears. 'Shotgun wedding. Oh, I don't even know why I'm crying!'

'Women's thing,' was Draco's response.

She shoved him off the couch.

'Oh well, time for me to terrorise the First Years,' said Draco, getting off the floor and heading for the portrait hole.

'Don't be too mean to them.'

'Moi?' Draco struck a pose of wounded innocence.

Laughing, Hermione blew him a kiss.

He was just about to respond when there was a tremendous banging on the portrait. Draco opened it, and Ginny rushed past him, her hair flying in all directions.

'Hello Red, how are you?' Draco muttered under his breath.

'Hermione! Harry just told me what happened in Muggle Studies today, and I rushed right over! How are you – oh Merlin, why are you crying?'

Hermione, sniffing and rubbing the tears from her face, said 'It's nothing – '

'You skinny, slimy bastard, what have you done to her?' Ginny whirled around furiously, and advanced on Draco with her wand pointed at his heart.

From habit, Draco pulled his wand out, but managed to keep it pointed at the floor. 'Keep your knickers on, Red, there's nothing wrong.'

'Liar!' Ginny spat. Draco took a reluctant step back; she was renowned for her Bat-Bogey Hexes, and he had a classroom full of First Year detention students to glare menacingly at. Rather hard to do with bat-bogeys flying everywhere.

'Ginny!' Hermione had leapt up from the couch. 'Draco didn't make me cry. In fact, he did the opposite. He helped me solve a problem and cheered me up enormously.'

'Oh.' Wand still trained on Draco, she pivoted around to look Hermione up and down. 'You're sure?'

'Yes! May I fail all my N.E.W.T.S if I tell a lie.'

'Oh,' Ginny said again. Then, rather sheepishly, she turned back to Draco and lowered her wand. 'Well. Um. Sorry, Malfoy. Red-heads and tempers; whaddya gonna do?'

A stinging rebuke bubbled up from within; but seeing Hermione's face, he swallowed it back down, and in a tone as neutral as he could make it, replied 'No worries.'

Ginny beamed, then rushed over to the couch and leapt upon it, dragging Hermione down her with her while both shrieked.

Draco smirked. 'Is this what the ladies get up to when the blokes aren't around? I think I might stay in, after all. The First Years can supervise themselves.' With that, he flopped down in a nearby comfy chair and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

The girls laughed. 'No chance!' said Hermione. 'Go down and practice your glower power on the poor things.'

'Fine, I can see when I'm not wanted.' He stood up. 'See you later.' Without thinking, he leaned over and kissed Hermione lightly on the lips.

Then realised, with horror, what he'd just done.

* * *

Hermione and Draco stared at each other; then slowly turned to look at Ginny. Ginny, in turn, was staring at them both with saucer-like eyes.

No-one moved.

Suddenly, there was a ginormous whoop from Ginny and she bounced up and down on the couch, clapping her hands with delight. 'I knew it!' she crowed. 'Well, I didn't really know it, exactly, but I definitely thought there might be something possibly going on, maybe!'

Hermione and Draco both watched her bounce up and down. 'So, you're okay with us?' Hermione ventured.

''Mione, look at you. You're happy. Way happier than you were with Ron, which is sort of sad because I always wanted us to be sisters, but even I agree that he's a trial at the best of the times, and if Malfoy is the cause of your happiness, then I'm happy for you. Besides,' Ginny added, 'if he breaks your heart, I'll just kill him – slowly, and over the space of many, many years.'

'Get in line behind your boyfriend,' sniped Draco; then wished he could just cut his head off and be done with it.

'Harry knows?' Ginny worked up a pout. 'That secret-keeping wanker.'

'Harry knew it was up to us to decide whether to tell you. And we did; we just got a bit distracted.' Hermione drew Ginny into a hug. 'And we'll always be sisters, no matter what.'

Ginny sniffled. Then she looked up. 'Does that mean Malfoy's my brother then?'

Draco headed for the portrait hole. 'And there's my cue to leave. Good night, ladies, try not to behave.'

'Oh, we won't,' they said together, before cracking up.

* * *

When the portrait hole closed, Hermione excused herself to freshen up. Ginny looked at the stairs, the portrait hole, then the stairs again. She jumped up, and dashed out of the portrait hole.

She found Draco not too far away, and lo; he was passing a convenient tapestry.

Being suddenly dragged behind a tapestry was not one of Draco's most favourite pasttimes. Anticipating a prank from twits like Crabbe and/or Goyle, he whirled roughly around, breaking the kidnapper's hold on him, then faltered when he saw it was Ginny.

'What have I done now?' Draco asked, irritated and mystified. 'It's only been a couple of minutes since I left. Surely I haven't managed to break Hermione's heart in that amount of time.'

Ginny rolled her eyes. 'No. Actually, I wanted to thank you.'

'A Weasley thanking a Malfoy? Don't tell me. When I pull back the tapestry, the sky will be raining blood and Muggle boy bands will rule the world.'

'Well, the idea of being ruled by boy bands does sound intriguing, but in actual fact, I want to thank you because that's how my Mum raised me. And if you drop the arrogant prick act, who knows? Maybe we can be friends, too.'

Draco bared his teeth at her. 'Baby steps, Red. And it's not an act. It's an essential part of my existence. If I lose the arrogance, I'll crumble to dust.'

'Cool! Can I see?'

He rolled his eyes. 'Can you just go back and keep 'Mione company?'

Ginny smiled. Then she wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a big, Weasley hug.

Draco retained enough presence of mind to briefly return the hug before peeling her off him.

'We're a touch-feely family,' she explained.

'Not your family, Weaselette!' he gritted from behind clenched teeth.

Ginny poked her tongue out.

'Go!' he ordered.

'Going!' She skipped off.

* * *

Draco was five minutes late for the First Years' detention, and the little bastards were practically swinging off the wall sconces when he opened the classroom door. When they saw who their supervisor was, they all shrieked and bolted for their desks, trembling like blobs of uniform-coloured jelly.

He hid a smirk before sitting at the teacher's desk and bestowing an evil grin upon his captives.


	10. Chapter 10

Time hurtled further and further towards what was now becoming known as the Event of the Year: 'Romeo and Juliet – The Greatest Story of All Time!' Mostly because of the fierce promotion that was taking place under Professor Clarence's supervision.

Posters, banners, bookmarks, drinks coasters and personalised invitations were created, using designs that delightfully interwove the colours of Slytherin and Gryffindor – but not in a Christmassy way, you understand.

Professor Clarence wanted the house-elves to wear promotional sandwich boards, but even they thought that was going a bit far. Some enterprising First Years said they'd do it, but their fees were so exorbitant she sent them to detention for attempted extortion.

The advertising was heavily distributed around Hogwarts and sent out to the parents. One could barely move throughout the castle without encountering them. This was thanks to Peeves, who'd discovered Professor Clarence's apparently never-ending promo stash and was joyfully distributing them up, down, around and all over Hogwarts.

House elves enthusiastically cleaned them up every night – only to be thrilled to discover more the next day. And the day after that. And the day after – well, you get my point.

Any hope that Hermione and Draco's parents might not attend the play were dashed when Professor Clarence informed the class that those parents who had not yet RSVP'd to their invitations would be sent Howlers 'reminding' them to do so. These would continue every day until they either caved in or banged on the door to St Mungo's, begging to be let in.

Hogwart's own Hospital Wing saw steady business with students who had banged heads, stubbed toes, twisted ankles, fallen down stairs, fallen off stairs, were beaten up by people who had been banged into, failed to dodge wayward hexes and even fallen off brooms because they were wandering around the school with their noses stuck in a play script, frantically trying to remember their lines.

But despite Professor Clarence's private wishes, Hogwarts did have a few other things to be going on with - trifles such as O.W.L.S, N.E.W.T.S, the various festivals the school celebrated, and not to mention the Quidditch Cup Final - between Gryffindor and Slytherin, once more.

Which was being played today.

* * *

Draco was sitting on the window seat in ripped jeans and a dark grey fitted t-shirt, watching the sun rise when Hermione woke up. A mug of coffee was cupped between his hands.

Hermione sniffed appreciatively. 'Hmm, yum.'

'Yes, I know.' Draco grinned with mock humility and buffed his nails against his shirt.

'I meant the coffee,' she laughed. 'But I will concede you look almost as good as that coffee smells.'

''Almost?''

'Well, you make truly wonderful coffee.'

Draco preened. 'One of my many talents.'

'Is there any left?' she asked hopefully.

'Sorry, there was only enough for one cup.'

Her face fell.

He chuckled. 'Just kidding. I would never deny you a cup of Malfoy's Magnificent Brew.'

She brightened. 'Oh, goody!'

She sat up in bed as Draco levitated a mug of hot, rich, creamy coffee from the kitchenette to her waiting hands. She took a sip and closed her eyes in bliss. 'Oh, yeah, that's the stuff.'

She studied her boyfriend as he idly looked up at the sky. His goatee was coming in nicely. She was a little worried that his pale colouring would quash any decent attempt at developing facial hair that was actually visible to an audience, but it was happily sprouting away in a blonde that was darker than his hair. He looked a bit like that gorgeous chap in the movie _Robin Hood: Men in Tights_ , Hermione thought deliciously.

Draco scratched his beard absently.

'Good flying weather?'

He gave her a lazy smile. 'I've got a good feeling about today.'

She smirked. 'You know for the first time ever, I'll be happy no matter which team wins.'

He mocked glared at her.

'But officially, I'm still one hundred percent Gryffindor. So I'll be sitting with them in the stands. And I'll have to pretend to be disappointed if Slytherin wins.'

He shook his finger at her. 'You're fickle, that's your trouble.'

'Fickle?' Hermione put her cup down, pulled the bed sheets aside, climbed out of bed and walked slowly towards him - in the nude.

Draco's mouth felt very dry all of a sudden.

'I can't have you thinking I'm fickle,' she purred. 'So how about this? You know how you wanted to try…something… and I wasn't sure if I was ready? If Slytherin wins the Cup, we'll try it… tonight.' She leaned down and kissed him.

He swallowed with difficulty. 'And, um, if Gryffindor wins?' he said hoarsely.

She fixed him with a look. 'No sex for a week.'

'What the actual _fuck_?'

'Two weeks.'

'Okay, okay!' He'd better quit while he was ahead. Or, more accurately, behind.

'Agreed?' she asked.

Oh, the agony of choice. He stuck out his hand. 'Agreed.'

They shook hands.

Draco climbed off the window seat and gathered Hermione in his arms. 'I take it the bet is not yet in effect?' he murmured, kissing his way lightly down her neck.

'Actually,' she said breathlessly, 'it's been known that abstaining from sex before a big game really helps the players focus on winning.'

'Uh-huh.' Draco was only half-listening.

'I think you should try it.'

'Wha-?' Draco paused, lips on her nipple.

She gently but firmly pulled herself out his grasp. 'It's an important game, love. I want you to have every advantage.'

Draco looked like he'd just swallowed a lemon. 'Babe, you can see what positon I'm in.'

She looked down at his jeans, stretched uncomfortably across his crotch. She gave him a sheepish smile. 'Sorry. But I really, really, want you to win.'

Draco glared at her. She looked innocently back.

After a good silence, he gave up. 'I'm going to have a cold shower, apparently.'

Hermione bit her lip to hide her smile as he stomped out of the bedroom.

* * *

It was a beautiful day, crisp and cold. The Quidditch stands were jam-packed with hordes of braying, chanting and screaming Hogwarts students and faculty. Not that the faculty were at the braying, chanting or screaming stage, yet.

The goalposts stood out in relief against the azure sky. No clouds, no fog, no gale-force winds, no Dementor mists – it was a day born for flying, according to Blaise Zabini, commentator for the match.

Hermione, settling into the stands with Lavender, Parvati, Luna and Neville, saw Blaise in the commentary box, making adjustments to the equipment. Daphne Greengrass was sitting next to him, giggling as he leaned over and whispered something undoubtedly inappropriate in her ear.

Professor Snape was sitting nearby, and it looked like he was already developing a tic in his eye thanks to the proximity of the Greengrass girl in relation to Zabini's crotch. But to give the Professor his due, thought Hermione wryly, he usually gave his victim enough rope to hang themselves with before he let loose with his sharp tongue, blistering wit and mind-boggling talent for imaginative punishments.

If I were a betting woman, mused Hermione, Snape will have evicted Daphne from the commentary box within an hour… wait! She smirked to herself. I _am_ a betting woman…

Neville noticed Hermione's smirk. 'So, 'Mione! Expecting an overwhelming victory for Gryffindor, then?' he said, rubbing his hands together.

She adjusted her Gryffindor scarf and pulled her beanie over her ears. 'Oh, who knows, Neville? As long as the best team wins, I'll be happy.'

Neville pondered this rather evasive statement, but deduced that since the best team was obviously Gryffindor, it amounted to the same thing.

Lavender and Parvati spent their time giggling together, waving madly at people around the stands, and for some reason, glaring at Daphne in the commentary box, who seemed, from her elevated state, to be sitting on Blaise's lap. Luna sat between Neville and Hermione, dreamily looking at things in the sky no-one else could see.

A slightly strangled announcement from Blaise heralded the entry of the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams into the centre of the pitch. Everyone leapt to their feet, waving and cheering – Hermione and her friends included; (most of) the faculty exempted.

Hermione crossed her fingers and sent a silent prayer to Draco. She wasn't sure if she could bear two weeks without sex with him, either. She watched him stride out onto the pitch at the head of his team, acknowledging the cheers from the Slytherin sector with grace – especially when compared to Crabbe and Goyle, who were doing an accurate impression of gorillas facing off before beating the living snot out of each other. Their fans went wild.

Draco looked around the stands, a blur of house colours in scarves and hats, but he found who he was looking for in the Gryffindor sector soon enough. Their eyes met. Neither smiled, nor mouthed any words. But that quick, intense look somehow conveyed everything they meant to each other, and it made Hermione literally feel weak at the knees.

I want to be with him, always.

Luna's mittened hand crept into Hermione's and squeezed gently. Startled, Hermione turned her head and found that Luna's otherworldly eyes were focussed on her. She smiled at Hermione.

On the pitch, Draco's reaction was similar to Hermione's. He swallowed and drew in a deep breath, looking at the ground.

I can't live without her now.

He was jostled by a terribly upbeat person saying 'Wake up, sleepyhead!' Draco looked up and wasn't the least bit surprised to see Ginny Weasley grinning in front of him, jumping and down and swinging her arms around dangerously.

'You've got too much to worry about with your team than to be concerned about me,' he ribbed, smirking, but not meanly.

'Let me think, Malfoy, which house has won more Quidditch Cups than any other?' She cupped her ear and leaned forward. 'Hmm?'

Draco's smirk turned into a laugh. 'How will it feel for you to be on the losing team this year?'

Ginny opened her mouth to retort back, but was flattened by a charging gorilla called Crabbe. She shrieked as he pinned her to the ground. Boos echoed around the stand.

'Hey!' Draco lunged for Crabbe, pulling him off Ginny as Harry and Ron sprinted over to her rescue. 'What the hell are you doing?'

'What the fuck, man?' Ron jabbed his finger repeatedly into Crabbe's not inconsiderable chest. Judging by his skin colour, Draco estimated, Ron was about seventy-five percent of the way towards a full-blown loss of control of his fists. 'Leave my sister alone, asshole!'

Crabbe was a tad nonplussed. He thought he'd get a lot of cheers for his stunt, Merlin knows why, and he certainly wasn't expecting Malfoy to take Weaselette's side. 'I-I-'

Harry repositioned Ron so he was pointing away from Crabbe. 'Let it go, mate. We can't risk anyone getting sent off before the game even starts. Just focus on the game, all right?'

'That fucking animal!' spluttered Ron as he stomped back to Ginny.

Mesdames Hooch and Pomfrey strode up with their professional frowns on. Madam Pomfrey knelt by Ginny, who was sitting up and looking well pissed off. Madam Hooch barked 'Crabbe, Malfoy and Potter!' and waited for the three to sidle up to her while she tapped her foot and crossed her arms.

'Crabbe!' she spat, and the boy stepped forward; half-defiant, half-sheepish; all stupid.

'If that incident is an example of how you plan to conduct yourself in the air, I will have you grounded!'

As Hooch ranted, Draco prayed to every god he knew that a miracle would happen and he'd be able to captain a complete team against Gryffindor, who even he admitted were pretty damn good.

'Malfoy?'

'Wha-yes! Er, I'm totally disappointed in Crabbe's behaviour. All I can think of is that it was a momentary loss of judgement due to being overwhelmed by the excitement of this game. I'll see to it that he maintains discipline in the air, Madam, if you'll let him play,' he said as humbly as he could. (Which, for a Malfoy, wasn't that much, to be honest).

Hooch glared at him.

Harry cleared his throat and said 'Madam Hooch, Ginny was only surprised by the tackle, rather than hurt.' They all looked over to where Ginny was now upstanding and talking animatedly with the other Gryffindor players. Madam Pomfrey had disappeared. 'It looked like hi-jinks rather than a deliberate intent to harm. I think sending Crabbe off at this point might be a bit harsh.' He looked down at his feet and pushed his glasses up his nose. 'Um, in my opinion.'

Both of Draco's eyebrows threatened to go into orbit.

Hooch sighed. 'All right. But' – she added as Draco left Crabbe's whoop and high five hanging – 'I will have my eyes on you, Crabbe. You even breathe wrong – I'll send you off. Understand?' she snarled.

Crabbe nodded. 'Yes, Madam.'

She turned to Draco. 'You?'

'Yes, Madam.'

Due to Blaise's exceptional eyesight, and despite distractions from Daphne, he'd deduced that Crabbe wouldn't be sent off, after all. He relayed this information to the crowd, who received it with mixed emotions: Slytherin cheered and yahooed; everyone else booed.

'Right! Everyone in your places!' Hooch waved both teams to the centre of the pitch. Standing next to Draco and Harry with the ball box hopping excitedly around her ankles, she said 'As always, I want a good, CLEAN game' – she glared at Crabbe – 'played according to the rules. Captains, shake hands' – she nodded to Draco and Harry, who shook hands and nodded to each other – 'good luck, and may the best team win!'

With that, she honked on her whistle and opened the box. She threw the quaffle up, and the balls took to the sky with the two teams in hot pursuit.

* * *

It was a physically and mentally demanding game; one that Draco felt keenly, despite his fitness. Both teams, as always, were determined to win; and while one side may have been strong in one aspect of the game, the other was strong in a different aspect. It was pretty much even-stevens.

Blaise was kept on his toes commentating the fast-paced game. He only hiccupped a couple of times throughout the match – the first time, he was caught short when play re-started after a whistle blow quicker than he expected, and was discovered by Snape with his tongue in Daphne's mouth.

The second time was when he gave commentary while Daphne, on her knees before him, gave him quite a professional blow-job. His voice rose at least five octaves when Daphne reached a culmination, so to speak, but when Snape glared at him suspiciously, he pretended to cough and asked if he could have some water.

Snape transfigured a nearby and unobservant student's beanie into a water-filled glass and handed it over without comment.

Hermione observed this transaction a little glumly. She, and no doubt Professor Snape, had a good idea what was going on when Daphne disappeared from view for about ten minutes. If Snape wasn't going to kick Daphne out for engaging in lewd conduct in a public place, Hermione may well have lost her bet with herself.

I hope this isn't an omen, she thought. She couldn't bring herself to cheer for Slytherin, even inside her head, but she redoubled her prayers for Draco to win – while cheering for Gryffindor at the same time. While feeling guilty about wanting Gryffindor – with three of her best friends on the team – to lose.

Is this how multiple personalities start? She wondered.

Meanwhile, back in the air, the score was equal, and had been in deadlock for an hour. The elusive snitch was doing what it did best – being elusive – and Draco was trying to split himself in three by keeping one eye out for the tiny ball, one eye on Harry, and another on Crabbe to make sure he didn't do anything stupid.

Obviously this is very difficult when you only have two eyes.

Ginny flew towards him with her tongue poking out. He smirked and flipped her the bird. He heard her laughter as she soared past to a spot above and behind him.

He scanned the area once more for the snitch, noting that Harry was hunting near Ron's goalposts and Crabbe was usefully occupied evading a bludger.

Suddenly, he heard a scream that tore right through his heart. Whipping around, he saw Ginny plummeting towards the ground, screaming in terror, her robes flapping wildly in the wind.

He found himself diving towards her before his brain had fully processed what was going on. He gave his broom everything it had, hurtling towards the terrified girl. She saw him approach, her eyes huge with fright and streaming with tears, her freckles visible in stark contrast against her ashen skin. Dimly he heard other noises around him – screams, Hooch's whistle going full tilt, Blaise's voice raised in shock – but all he registered was the whistle of the wind, the harsh chill of the air, and Ginny's beautiful hair rippling around her terrified face.

The ground was approaching all too soon. Draco kicked the broom forward once more, stretching out towards her. He only had one chance to intercept her before it was too late. His quick mind was processing the best way to approach her as concentrated on closing the distance between them. He couldn't grab one of her hands; she was wearing gloves and they might come off. He couldn't grab one of her forearms; like the gloves, he might pull the guards off instead. How in Circe's name was he going to catch her?

By her hair?

Think harder, Draco, he berated himself.

He edged along his broom until he was nearly at the edge and clamped the rest of the broomstick between his thighs, crossing his feet over to give him balance and control.

'Come on, come on,' he prayed as he neared.

He let the broom go with both hands.

He grabbed hold of the front of her robe with his left hand, his strongest. Pulling her towards him with all his might, he wrapped his other arm around her shoulder blades. Using the speed he'd accumulated, he yanked his broom up and they soared upwards in a wide circle while he used the momentum to pull her onto his broom. Shaking, she clamped her arms and legs tightly around him while babbling 'omigod omigod omigod' non-stop.

He kept his arm tight around the trembling girl as he began to slow the broom. 'It's okay, Red,' he said into her ear. 'I won't let you go.'

Ginny's prayers dwindled, but she was crying heavily, sobbing while trying to breathe in great big lungfuls of air.

He started his descent, only now noticing he was being flanked by Harry and Ron, who were both as white as ghosts. The noise from the stands jolted him – thunderous cheers and applause, with Blaise, the professional, still providing commentary, the relief in his voice plain to hear.

Draco reached the ground, and was met by a mob of people. Harry, Ron and Madam Hooch were the first. The other Quidditch players had also descended, and kept a close yet respectful distance away. Madam Pomfrey and Professors McGonagall and Snape hurried onto the pitch, Snape accio-ing Ginny's broom as he approached. Professor Dumbledore made his way there more sedately, and was quickly overtaken by Hermione, Lavender, Parvati, Neville and Luna.

'Hey.' Draco nudged Ginny, who was still clinging to him like a red-haired marsupial. 'Your free ride's over, kid.'

Harry and Ron gently disentangled Ginny from Draco and sat her on the ground, holding her hands and wiping the tears from her eyes while she shook like a leaf. Madam Pomfrey arrived and checked Ginny over. She administered a dose of Calming Draught, accio'ed some warm blankets to wrap around Ginny and made arrangements to transport Ginny back to the castle to take care of the whiplash she received when Draco pulled her onto his broom.

'What the hell happened, Gin?' Ron asked, pacing back and forth in agitation.

'Now probably isn't the best time' – started Harry.

'Did you get hit by something? Did someone push you?' He whirled on Crabbe. 'Did you do this to her?' he shouted furiously.

Crabbe smarted. 'I had nothing to do with it, Weasel!'

'Mr Weasley' – began Professor McGonagall.

'I fell off,' Ginny said numbly.

Ron scoffed. 'You? That's ridiculous! You were practically born riding a broom.'

'I don't remember how I fell off. I just fell off, all right?' she snapped, albeit not with her usual vigour.

'I think I might be able to shed some light on the situation,' drawled Professor Snape. He glanced at the broom he was holding. 'Ms Weasley's broom is defective.'

A shocked gasp rippled around the group.

Realisation dawned on Ginny. 'I had it in the shop a while ago because it would drop out from me unexpectedly. I thought they fixed it, those buggers.'

'Whether it be poor workmanship or not, I recommend to you, Ms Weasley, that this broom be consigned to the flames.'

'With pleasure.' Ginny replied, glaring at the now-condemned broom.

Ginny's transport had arrived, and she stood up shakily, with the help of Harry and Ron. She took a couple of steps towards it, but stopped and turned around, then walked with trembling knees to Draco. A gasp sounded from every direction when she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him.

This time, he didn't feel the need to extricate himself as soon as humanly possible. He returned the hug, smoothing down her hair as it flew about in the breeze. Realising that like this, it was easy to think she was like a little sister to him.

She broke the embrace, then, standing on tip-toes, kissed him on the cheek. With a small smile, she nodded, winced, turned and shuffled back to Madam Pomfrey.

Harry touched her shoulder gently as she went past, then he, too, made his way over to Draco. He stuck out his hand. Draco took it, and Harry cuffed him gently on his shoulder. Draco did the same.

'Thank you,' Harry said simply. The catch in his voice was evident.

Under Harry's glare, Ron shuffled up to Draco, too. Holding out a slightly shaking hand to Draco, he said 'Uh. Yeah. Thanks. For saving her.'

Draco would never have thought this day would come, but he stretched his hand out and shook Ron's briefly. 'Yeah, all right, then.'

'Yeah.'

They all stepped back, embarrassed.

Draco looked at Hermione, who was standing with her Gryffindor friends. She did her best to give him a smile, but her lips were wobbling too much from the effort to hold back tears of fright, relief and love. They spilled anyway, and Draco watched with impotent envy as Longbottom drew her into his arms and comforted her.

'Um, Madam Hooch,' said Goyle, with as much respect as he could muster up. 'I don't want to sound insensitive, but what's going to happen with the game now?'

Madam Hooch came to a start, as if she'd forgotten all about the game. 'I don't suppose you caught the snitch?' she asked Harry, without much hope.

He shook his head.

Hooch sighed and turned to Snape to Dumbledore. They wandered off a few paces and put their heads together.

A few minutes later, the huddle broke and Professor Dumbledore stepped out into the centre of the pitch. Putting his wand to his throat, he announced to the hushed crowd 'My dear students, what a game this has been! Thankfully, tragedy was avoided thanks to the quick thinking and actions of your Head Boy, who saved the life of a player on the opposing team!'

Draco, to his embarrassment, felt himself flush. He pretended to inspect a spot on his broomstick.

'I had hoped to see inter-school unity develop this year, after all the trials and tribulations of our pasts. And what better display of comradeship could be found in Mr Malfoy's actions, and the thanks given him by Ms Weasley, her family and friends?'

Gods, this is agonising. Wrap it up, old man, thought Draco.

'As you are aware, the game score is currently tied, and the snitch has not been found. Well, actually' – Dumbledore searched around his voluminous robes – 'I have it here.' He held up the snitch, which was peacefully snoozing in his fingers.

The crowd gasped.

'In the event of a tie, the snitch is called home,' he explained. 'It's just been a long time since a tie was called in a Cup final.' He scratched his temple. 'In fact, I don't think we've ever had a tie situation at all. But never mind! Who's to say we can't?'

Rumbling rippled around the stands as everyone digested this.

'So, considering the circumstances, I believe it is right to declare a tied game, and I am pleased, very pleased, to announce that the joint winners of the Quidditch Cup are: Gryffindor and Slytherin!'

The crowd went bananas, the team members jumped up and down and hugged each other, Professors Snape and McGonagall shared an infinitesimal grin, and Draco and Harry just stood there, barely taking it all in.

A flashbulb exploded in their eyes, bringing them back to (blind) reality. 'Come along boys,' urged Madam Hooch, prodding them towards Professor Dumbledore, who (magically, of course) was wielding the enormous cup. They stumbled along, still suffering the after-effects of the flash.

Professor Dumbledore shook Harry's hand first and spoke his congratulations, then beckoned Draco forward.

As the Headmaster shook Draco's hand, he leaned forward and said quietly, with a kind smile: 'I'm extremely proud of the man you've become, Mr Malfoy.'

Draco was struck dumb. Was the warm feeling spreading through his chest and making his eyes shimmer with tears what a son should feel when receiving the highest praise from his father?

He didn't know.

All Draco could do was nod, and look into Professor Dumbledore's wise eyes. He couldn't speak.

Dumbledore passed the cup to the two boys, who each grasped a handle and raised it proudly high, to the deafening cheers of the spectators.

Then as if a dam had burst, a human wave washed over the pitch, and soon the two teams were swamped by hugs, cheers and high-fives. Hermione hugged everyone in the Gryffindor team crazily, and took advantage of the mania to wrap her arms around Draco and hug him tightly, if albeit briefly.

'You could have died,' she whispered.

'Too much to live for,' he whispered back.

'So hey, what are we going to do about the celebratory party?' Harry wondered aloud. 'Seems a bit dumb to have separate parties in Gryffindor and Slytherin.'

Draco looked at Hermione. 'Well, Head Girl, what do you suggest?'

'Me?' Hermione was briefly taken aback. 'Oh. Well, I guess, if it's all right with the Professors, of course' –

'Get on with it, Granger!' an anonymous voice shouted.

She rolled her eyes. 'We should have a combined party in the Great Hall. So there!' she yelled back to the heckler.

'What do the Heads of House think?' asked Dumbledore.

Professors McGonagall, Snape, Sprout and Flitwick looked at each other and nodded, some more enthusiastically than others.

Dumbledore happily proclaimed via his amplified wand that the Quidditch House Cup celebration would be held in the Great Hall that very evening.

Everyone went bananas again.

* * *

As parties went, it was a very jolly occasion. Some senior students might have been miffed at the lack of alcohol, but everyone else let their hair down and partied like mad.

To everyone's delight, Ginny attended for a short while, looking rather knackered but very pleased to put in an appearance. She hated missing out on parties.

Hermione was perusing the party from a quiet corner, with half a Prefect's eye out for mischief, when Draco approached her. Standing side-by-side, clutching mugs of Butterbeer, they looked every inch the professional Head Boy and Head Girl.

'You look stunning, love,' said Draco quietly.

She did. With her hair pinned up (always guaranteed to get a reaction from him now), wearing a dark red sleeveless A-line dress that draped from a silver collar and ended just above her knees, accompanied by high-heeled Roman sandal-styled shoes, she looked both beautiful and older than her eighteen years.

She smiled into her Butterbeer. 'So do you.' Earlier, she'd watched him change into black dress trousers and an open-necked silver shirt that tapered over his toned waist perfectly and drew attention to his eyes. She'd been waiting hours for the opportunity to rip it off him.

So she told him that, in a low voice while raising an eyebrow at a couple of Fourth-Year boys who were acting the goat.

Even over the music and clamour of the partygoers, she could hear him swallow. He wasn't drinking.

'About that bet,' he started. 'Since there was a tie, what happens now?'

'Well…' she pretended to think. Then, on the pretext of pointing something out to him, she leaned over and breathed in his ear 'Put it this way. You may not have seen earlier, but I'm not wearing any underwear.' She pulled back. 'Does that answer your question?' she asked brightly.

'Oh Gods…'

'Well! Guess I'll see you later, Malfoy!' Hermione waggled her fingers at him and strode off, her hips swinging in time with her high-heeled steps.

Malfoy, meanwhile, stayed in the corner until he got his erection under control.

It was very hard. Pun intended.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N Back to the play! Hooray! Well – almost…**

* * *

It was past midnight when Draco and Hermione opened the door to his bedroom. As Head Boy and Head Girl, they had to stay at the party until the bitter end, which was announced by the arrival of the liveried house-elves on clean-up duty.

Hermione closed the door, leaned on it and looked across at her man. His shirt flickered in the moonlight. 'How are you feeling?'

Draco had to think about it. 'Wired,' he said eventually.

'You've been up since before dawn. I'm surprised you're not comatose.'

'I'm made of stronger stuff than that, Granger.'

She could see his panty-dropping grin in the dim light. It really was quite infectious. It always made her grin back, as well as drop her panties. And the best thing was, she was the only person who saw it.

But before he got any ideas, she needed to talk to him.

'About today.'

Draco narrowed his eyes, but waited for her to speak.

'When you chased after Ginny, I thought you were going to die.'

He sighed. 'Granger' –

'You've been riding brooms since before you could walk, yeah, yeah. The logical side of me knew you would be okay. But the part that has my heart realised that if you died, I wouldn't be able to bear it.'

Hermione crossed her arms and turned away from him, trying to get herself under control.

Draco came up slowly behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in close. Lowering his head, he rested his lips at the junction of her neck and shoulder. She felt, rather than heard him say 'You have me. For as long as you want me. I want it to be always.'

A tear trickled down her cheek. 'Me too.'

She turned around in his arms and lifted up her face for his kiss. He started gently, and Merlin knew he tried to maintain it. But he was intoxicated by her presence, her body, her scent. Their kiss deepened into passion and raw, hard need.

Draco let Hermione remove his shirt, recalling her tease from earlier in the evening. Still kissing him, she pulled the shirt out from his pants and undid the buttons. Spreading the open shirt over his shoulders, she quickly pulled the shirt down his arms, trapping them at his sides. Releasing her mouth from his, she watched his face. He was breathing hard, waiting for her next move.

His nipples were at the perfect height for her. So she brushed each one with her tongue. Then she pulled at them with her teeth, drawing the pleasure-pain out.

Her name spilled from his lips.

Dropping to her knees, she ignored the erection outlined prominently against his fly. Instead, she ran her tongue along his obliques, kissing every perfect ridge and dip. She grazed her teeth along the muscles; then gently bit.

'Fuck…' The sensation carried straight to his penis and turned it to stone. Hell, he even began to imagine her scraping her teeth along his erection and balls. Funny. He never figured himself for a masochist.

Something to explore, one day.

''Mione,' he gritted, 'I've wanted to be inside your body for nearly eighteen hours straight. You have to let me go.'

She didn't argue. She freed his arms of the confining shirt, and stepped back. She undid the collar to her dress and made to take it off when she was stopped by his rough 'No.'

She looked up and saw glittering eyes. 'I will undress you.'

She let her hands fall.

He knelt by her legs, and slowly undid the straps to her heels, his fingers fluttering lightly over her ankles. Once undone, he ran his hands up each leg to her thigh – then back down. He followed with his tongue.

She was very unsteady when he finally removed her shoes.

Draco stood up and gathered up the hem of her dress. Hermione raised her arms, and he pulled the filmy material up and over – only to let the dress slip from his fingers when he discovered that as well as not wearing any panties, she wasn't wearing a bra, either.

Just one floaty dress between her perfect, naked body and the eyes of every male in the Great Hall.

Dear Gods, this woman will give me a heart attack, he thought.

She smirked at him, reading his mind.

He pointed to the bed.

Her smirk grew bigger, but she complied, dragging her fingers across his clothed erection as she did so.

Draco shucked the rest of his clothes and climbed onto the bed, settling over her.

'Still want to try?' he whispered.

She bit her lip, but she whispered 'Yes.'

'You can change your mind at any time. You know that.'

She nodded, then pouted. 'Why were you born with such a big dick?'

Draco chuckled. 'That's the sort of question you're more likely to know the answer to than me.'

'I don't really care right now.'

'Good. For a second I had a horrible vision of us getting dressed and rushing off to the library.'

Hermione laughed, the lovely bell-jingling sound he loved.

He kissed her nose. 'I love you, Hermione. Thank you for trusting me.'

She smiled. 'I love you too.'

* * *

Draco called the shots tonight. He made love to her slowly, setting each part of her body alight with want and need. With her head flung back and her chest heaving with desire, he licked and gently bit the outline of her breasts while he tested her entrance with his fingers. She moaned in a broken voice as he relished her wetness, and he slid inside her with one smooth, powerful stroke.

She shattered beneath him, calling out his name in a voice that branded his heart. Her body visibly trembled as he moved inside her, feeding his own desire. He kissed her earlobe, whispering all the things he wanted to do her while she begged him to let her come again.

He pulled her up by her hips and turned her over so she was on all fours, barely breaking his rhythm. He angled her hips down and fucked her hard, completely filling her to the hilt with his cock.

'Draco!' keened Hermione, on the brink.

'Not until I tell you!' hissed Draco, without breaking his stride. On and on. Harder and harder.

'Dear God, please please please' –

'No, not God. Me.' Arrogance, thy name is Malfoy. With that, he grabbed a handful of her hair near her head and yanked her head back.

'Now,' he hissed.

She screamed her release, and Draco was pleased to see that she'd achieved what he wanted. She gushed over him, and his cock was bathed in her come. It felt so fucking good.

Gasping, Hermione's arms and legs gave out and she collapsed onto the bed. Draco followed her, his cock still sunk in her tight, slick pussy. He kissed her shoulders, whispering 'That was beautiful, love.'

She managed a wobbly hum of agreement in response.

'You still okay?'

'Uh-huh. Do it.'

He smiled and wiggled a pillow under Hermione's hips. 'Remember what I said.'

'Draco, shut up and do it!'

'As my lady commands.' He gently withdrew from her.

Hermione rested her flushed face on her folded arms and waited for him, trying not to tense up. She jumped a little bit as she felt his lubricated finger trace around her puckered anus, then press gently into the centre.

'Okay, love?'

'Uh-huh.'

His finger breached her entrance and slid slowly in. She moaned in bliss as her body accepted him. Her hips moved convulsively when he moved his finger around her passage, then slowly pistoned in and out.

'Oh gods, more, Draco…'

'You're sure?'

'Yes! For Godric's sake, yes!'

'All, right, all right!' Gently, Draco introduced another long, lubricated finger to the entrance of her anus, then slowly pushed in.

Hermione made a sound Draco had never heard before, and he froze. 'Love? You okay?'

'Oh, my Gods…'

'Yes or no, love?'

'Y-y-y-e-sss…'

Not one hundred percent convinced, he leaned forward and kissed his way up her glistening spine. 'You're doing really well, pet,' he whispered.

'Thank y-you.'

He began to move his fingers again, and was encouraged when the strange sound didn't return. Slowly he built up the movement, gently scissoring his fingers apart. With his other hand he played gently with her clitoris and ignored the aching desperation to bury his cock, balls-deep, inside her. She bucked her hips up against his hand, each moan of desire going straight to his erection. He didn't dare stimulate himself; he was afraid he'd ejaculate with one touch.

But eventually he had to.

'I'm going to enter you, sweetheart,' he whispered.

'Gods, please, Draco, I want you.'

'And I want you.' _Boy,_ do I want you.

Draco steeled himself. Gritting his teeth, he didn't make a sound as he worked the lubricant over his rigid cock. Gods, at this rate he'd be lucky not to come on his first stroke.

He positioned himself at the entrance to her ass, and pushed the head of his cock slowly in.

She screamed; a sound that Draco felt in the pit of his stomach. 'What do you want me to do, love?' he asked tersely.

She sounded near to hyperventilation, clawing for air. 'Don't know, don't know… I – I – stay.'

'You want me to stay where I am?' Draco asked cautiously.

'Yes. Yes.'

So he did, trying his best not to move even though his cock begged for stimulation.

After what seemed like eternity, Hermione whispered 'More.'

Draco pushed further in, whispering how well she was doing and how much he loved her. This was a new level of intimacy for them. Hermione had to completely trust him not to hurt her, and her bestowal of that trust made his chest actually hurt, that was how humbled he felt.

Eventually, Hermione began to move her hips back and forth, and Draco's cock slid all the way in. Oh, Merlin. Tight, slippery, tight.

He lowered himself over her back, taking the weight on his forearms, and moved some of her curls to one side. 'Hello,' he whispered in her ear.

She giggled. 'Hello.'

'How's it feel?'

'Well… strange. Full.'

'Not sore?'

She wiggled her hips, dragging a groan from his lips. 'No.'

'Good.'

'Well,' she said in a schoolmarm voice. 'Break-time's over. Get a move on.'

'You slave-driving wench of a witch!'

'Oh, shut up.'

Draco shook his head, grinning, and pulled himself backwards. Slowly he began to move in and out of her ass, revelling in her uninhibited reactions and broken moans. He built up his pace, bit by bit, until he was fucking her ass, gripping her hips for purchase. It was utter fucking bliss.

'Draco, omigod, I think – I think – I'-

He applied two fingers to her clit and rubbed it.

Hermione came so hard her body went rigid before wailing so hard she cracked her voice. Draco's following orgasm was so intense he thought he might actually pass out.

The two exhausted lovers collapsed on the bed.

'Well,' he said, a few or many minutes later. 'Shall we make this a regular thing?'

'I guess. Once a year is regular, right?' she croaked.

'Spoilsport,' Draco mock-pouted.

'Kidding! Regular is fine. But not every day.'

'Yeah, all right.'

* * *

 **A/N:** _ **Now**_ **we're back to the play.**

* * *

The Slytherin and Gryffindor boys continued to progress with their fencing; although at a pace Professor Snape was most displeased with. The girls got to the business end of costuming.

The female component of the cast was quickly measured, and designs got underway. Buoyed with confidence, Pansy and Parvati set forth to measure up the boys. First stop: Slytherin.

Pansy had spent vast quantities of the past few days reminding the cast that they had to present themselves, preferably upright and sober, in the Slytherin Common Room to be measured for their costumes.

Naturally, at the appointed day and hour, only Blaise and Theo were present; and that was just because they were playing an epic game of wizard chess and hadn't moved from the subterranean common room in over three hours.

Furious, Pansy and Parvati discussed how to round up the absentees in the most efficient and painful manner possible. Option One: get Draco to knock a few heads together. However, the Heads' quarters were in one of the Towers, so fetching, then lugging Draco all the way down the many, many stairs to raise hell in the Slytherin dungeons seemed a waste of energy.

Thus, they went for Option Two.

Soon, every member of Slytherin domiciled in their quarters got the fright of their lives when Professor Snape's exceedingly annoyed baritone broadcasted: 'ALL MALE CAST MEMBERS OF THIS MERLIN-FORSAKEN PLAY SHALL BE ASSEMBLED IN THE COMMON ROOM IN THE NEXT TWO SECONDS OR I WILL PERSONALLY SEE TO IT THAT THEY NEVER PORTRAY THEMSELVES AS A MALE EVER AGAIN!'

In the Potions classroom, Snape tucked his wand away, picked up his quill and glared at Pansy. 'Will that be all, Ms Parkinson?'

Ms Parkinson grinned. 'As always, Professor, you exceed my expectations.'

With a saucy wink, she flounced out of the room, leaving behind a slightly worried Professor to think about what the hell that wink meant, exactly.

The senior boys of Slytherin answered their Housemaster's call in record time, although not within two seconds, to be honest. They lined up at Pansy's barked commands, eyeing Parvati as she unwrapped a snake-like measuring tape from around her neck and wound some of it around her hand.

She looked each boy in the eye, feeding the tape through her other hand – then snapped it.

It sounded just like a whip cracking.

Every boy became aroused.

'Right!' said Parvati. 'We're going to get through this quickly and painlessly, provided you do exactly as we say. I will take your measurements; Pansy will record the details. When your costumes are made, we will return with them for a fitting, and make any required adjustments magically. So! Who's first?'

Heads looked in all sorts of directions.

Gregory Goyle knew it was his time. Resplendent in the goatee he'd almost obsessively cultured, he stepped forward and intoned 'Me.'

A corner of Parvati's mouth turned up in satisfaction. She strode over to him, and stepped up close. On her tip-toes, she leaned forward and inspected Goyle's whiskers closely. Very closely.

Goyle stared straight ahead, hardly daring to breathe and hoping his erection would deflate before it caused trouble.

'That's really good, Goyle,' Parvati praised with admiration. 'And you maintain it so well, too.'

Was she talking about his goatee, or his stiffy? Goyle wondered.

'All the others can learn from your excellent example,' Parvati said happily.

Ah. Probably the goatee, then.

Parvati got down to business. Pansy stepped up, parchment and quill at the ready. The rest of the boys leaned over to gawk.

Parvati measured Goyle's chest first. This necessitated having to brush her breasts against his chest while she wrapped the tape around his significant form. She called out the measurement to Pansy, who wrote it down. Goyle bit down on his tongue to prevent a whimper of lust from escaping.

His neck was next. He stared straight ahead as Parvati's cool, slim fingers brushed against his heated skin. He conjured up an image of Professor McGonagall wearing nothing but her witches' hat. That eased the pressure in his groin somewhat.

His waist and sleeve measurements were obtained without calling undue embarrassment to himself.

'Nearly done,' said Parvati. 'I'll just take your inseam measurement and that will be it.' She dropped to her knees before him.

Fuck!

McGonagall suddenly morphed into Parvati, nude except for the measuring tape, which she had wrapped around her neck like a scarf. She was slowly licking a large lollipop, winking at him suggestively.

No no no no no! thought Goyle as he stared down in horror at the top of Parvati's sleek head, right by his groin. He didn't think it was physically possible, but his dick seemed to be getting even bigger. And harder. Oh Gods, here comes the tape measure…

Parvati raised the hand holding the tape measure to just below Goyle's aching balls.

A bead of sweat trailed down his right temple.

She checked the measurement by Goyle's foot and called out the number to Pansy.

Parvati got up from her knees. But as she did so, her hand brushed stealthily– but deliberately – across the length of his entire erection. Base to head. She looked Goyle straight in the eye as she stood up. They were fathomless, dark pools.

'Thanks for your co-operation, Goyle,' she said simply.

'No worries,' he got out when he could control his voice again.

Parvati and Pansy moved on to Theo and started berating him for not growing his goatee quickly or evenly enough. No longer the centre of attention, Goyle strolled casually to his dorm's bathrooms.

He locked himself in a stall, cast a _silencio_ and practically ripped the zip off his pants freeing his enormous cock. He'd never produced so much pre-come before, and initially wondered if he'd ejaculated and didn't realise. But when his hand gripped his length, he knew that blessed release was still on the horizon. Closing his eyes, the image of the naked, lollipop-sucking Parvati reappeared, and he worked his cock furiously.

She's so slim, he thought. Bet her cunt's tighter than a mermaid's asshole -

He came hard, roaring out his frustration, desire and release, spilling ropes of come over his hands.

Leaning against the cubicle wall, panting, his heart going a mile a minute, he cast a _scourgify_ and came back down to earth with a bump.

She'd never want a thick twit like me, he thought. What the hell can I give her that no-one else can?

He sat on the closed toilet seat and dropped his head in his hands.

* * *

'Earth to Parvati!' Pansy's snapping fingers were in front of her eyes.

'Eh?' she said vaguely.

Pansy looked at her closely. 'You okay? You look like you've been away with Luna's nargles.'

'Oh! Yeah, of course I'm fine!' Parvati grinned. 'Let's measure the Gryffindor boys, then we can get started on the fun stuff!'

Pansy couldn't have agreed more. 'Race you to the portrait hole!' she called, and skipped off.

Parvati followed at a statelier pace, thinking about Goyle's gigantic erection, and wondering how she could get him to fuck her senseless with it.

* * *

The time had come from conducting endless rehearsals in the Muggle Studies classroom to practising on the stage.

Professor Clarence was beside herself with joy with the elf-constructed stage and sets. Situated at the head of the Great Hall, the stage was conveniently charmed to appear when needed, which meant that the teaching staff didn't have to eat their meals in the middle of an Italian Renaissance city. Not that many would have minded.

The backdrops were lovingly-painted, realistic renditions of beauty. Building edifices looked like they had grown naturally out of the scenery, and included functioning fountains, real gardens, and even the odd horse or chicken meandering about in the background. With a simple snap of Professor Clarence's fingers, the stage went dark, and the next scene magically appeared.

Earlier, Hermione and Professor Clarence approached Professor Flitwick, in his role as Conductor of Hogwarts Orchestra, and asked if he would do them the great honour of providing the soundtrack to the play. Preferably without toads.

Once the diminutive Professor had it explained to him what a soundtrack was, what a play was, and what this particular play was about, he enthusiastically agreed. It also helped that he had a wee bit of a crush on Professor Clarence, and she happily agreed to his suggestion that she privately tutor him in the script, so that he could produce a stirring score within the allotted time.

Parvati, Pansy, Ginny, Millicent, Lavender and Daphne had produced a series of costumes that should rightly be submitted for the Best Costume Design Academy Award, were they producing a movie, instead of a play. Also, the use of magic in the costumes' construction would have been a tad difficult to explain away.

After poring over Muggle history books, the ladies designed fitted leather-look trousers matched with fitted collarless jackets, complete with separate sleeves that stitched to the jacket at the shoulders. Underneath, the boys wore loose, off-white linen shirts. The old-new look meant the boys could wear black dress shoes and not look like idiots. Cloaks with elaborate tie pins and other accessories completed the look, and Blaise was happy to admit that he'd underestimated the talented sextet. Once he'd tested out the seat of his trousers, of course.

The ladies' costumes were out of this world. The girls went for flowing Renaissance designs in stunning colours with floaty sleeves, tight bodices and contrasting under- and overskirts. Ginny designed individual hairstyles for each of the ladies, and wove delicate flowers and faux strands of jewels into their elaborate up-dos. As Hermione was playing a maid, her hair remained loose, but Ginny cleverly worked in diamantes and lustrous pearls that caught the light when she moved.

When everyone had donned their costumes and assembled on stage for the first time, there was utter silence. Everyone stared in wonder at each other, turning in slow circles as they moved around. Sitting in the audience (currently Gryffindor's long refectory table, although a proper seating area would be provided on the night), Ginny held her breath and waited for the inevitable jeers and complaints to commence.

But there were none.

Because Ginny was an effervescent girl and couldn't help herself, she let loose a loud 'Whoop!' (despite a glare from Professor Snape, who was present to finalise the sword-fight scenes) and shouted 'You guys look fantastic!'

That broke the spell. The cast looked at themselves, at each other, then at the opening set on the stage, and woo-hooed like crazy, jumping up and down and hugging whoever happened to be standing next to them.

It took Professor Snape an unprecedented two minutes to restore order to the Hall.

* * *

So without further ado, the dress rehearsals commenced. Not without its teething problems, of course. The chief concern being that people forgot their lines.

After Professor Clarence entreated her charges to 'try harder dears,' for the hundredth time after poor Lavender (Lady Capulet) flubbed her conversation with the Nurse (Pansy) about the many fine qualities of Juliet's intended spouse Paris (Seamus), Hermione murmured to Draco 'Spread the word for everyone to come up to our Common Room tonight after dinner. I know of a way to help them remember their lines that's fool-proof.'

Draco looked sceptical, but did as she asked.

However, our lovers were not without their own problems.

* * *

 _ **Romeo:** If I profane with my unworthiest hand_

 _This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this:_

 _My lips, two blushing pilgrims, read stand_

 _To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss._

 _ **Juliet:** Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much._

 _Which mannerly devotion shows in this,_

 _For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch._

 _And palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss._

 _ **Romeo:** Have not saints lips, and holy palmers, too?_

 _Juliet: Aye, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer._

 _ **Romeo:** O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;_

 _They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair._

 _ **Juliet:** Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake._

 _ **Romeo:** Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take._

Romeo's hands gently cupped Juliet's face; struck by her beauty and wit. She, in turn, looked up at him in wonder, anticipating her very first kiss from this gorgeous, romantic stranger.

He lowered his head to her. She parted her lips.

With bare millimetres between their mouths, they looked at each other, and…

…let go and sidled off to the opposite ends of the stage.

'Cut! Cut,' Professor Clarence said wearily. 'Er, you two do realise that you actually have to _kiss,_ you know?'

Draco and Hermione glanced at each other.

'We do, Professor, it's just…' Hermione looked helplessly at Draco.

'We'll dedicate all our spare time to practising,' he promised. 'But for the moment, can we just walk through the scenes?'

'No point trying to force them,' chipped in Ron helpfully, poking his head around a stage curtain.

'I suppose so,' signed Professor Clarence, after glancing at Professor Snape and getting absolutely no help from the inscrutable man whatsoever.

* * *

'So, what's the problem?' Ginny asked as she and Hermione sat down by the lake later in the day, tossing pieces of bread to the Giant Squid.

Hermione shrugged. 'How we feel about each other is private. I've never felt like this about anyone before. And the thought of artificially displaying it for everyone to see seems a little creepy.'

Ginny boggled. 'Wasn't that the entire point of putting on the play in the first place?'

Hermione threw up her hands. 'I know, I know!' She threw another piece of bread into the lake after receiving a reminder tap on her ankle from a tentacle. 'I'm just being silly. I can't 'practice' kissing Draco when I do it for real. On the night of the performance, it will be real. Rehearsals are not real. That's more or less it.'

Ginny wasn't entirely convinced, but knew better than to try to budge Hermione. 'Oi! There's none left!' she said crossly to the Squid, who was patting down Ginny's skirt for crumbs.

* * *

'There's nothing wrong.'

'If you say so.'

'I do say so.'

'It's just' –

'Look, Potter.' Draco eyed Harry from across one of the more remote library tables, where he was finishing a Potions assignment. 'If you and Red had to snog each other in front of the entire school for their exclusive entertainment, how would you feel?'

Harry thought about it, then turned red.

'Exactly.'

Harry was quiet for a while. Draco glanced back up, and sighed when he saw Harry's face.

'It will be fine on the night. In fact, it will be better than fine. It will be so fine, you'll have to restrain Weasley from dashing on to the stage and ripping Hermione from my lecherous clutches.'

Harry grinned.

'I wasn't joking,' warned Draco.

'I know.'

* * *

After dinner, the cast squeezed themselves into the Heads' Common Room. Hermione called the meeting to order by banging a spoon against her Butterbeer.

'I know that remembering your lines is difficult. With Muggle plays, there's a person, a prompter, who holds a script and sits close to the stage, whispering the lines out if any of the actors forget.'

People looked at each other. 'So, are we going to do that, then?' Blaise asked. 'All in favour?'

'No!' she shouted before the 'ayes' got in. 'I have a much better way. It just happens to involve magic, that's all.'

Ron grimaced. 'But Clarry said we weren't to use magic.'

'I know,' Hermione conceded. 'But she's already made exceptions for the stage and costumes. Also, if no-one tells her, she'll never know.'

Draco hid his admiration for her behind his Firewhiskey glass. My Gods, she gets more Slytherin-like every day, he marvelled.

'How about I tell you what my idea is, then everyone can vote for that or the prompter option?'

This was acceptable.

'The thing I don't like about the prompter option is that people in the audience can usually tell when an actor's forgotten their lines. They stop talking, and don't move until they hear the prompt. My suggestion is a charm that will make the gap between a forgotten line and a remembered line almost seamless.

'I choose an action that I can do if I forget my next line. When I do that action, the next lines will appear to me in mid-air, but only visible to me. If my trigger action is so minor as to be unnoticeable, the audience shouldn't pick it up. If everyone chooses a different action, the audience will have no idea. Including Professor Clarence.

'My chosen action,' she continued, 'is wiggling my right big toe, which will be hidden by my shoe. Your chosen action can be anything you want, but it should be minor, and it should be natural. For example: Parvati could casually tug on an earring. Harry could tap on the hilt of his sword. Blaise could tap his belt buckle. Lavender could touch her pendant necklace. Someone else could cross their fingers. That sort of thing.'

She stopped talking, and realised that everyone was staring at her with their jaws on the floor. 'What? Does my idea suck that badly?'

Blaise recovered first. 'Where did you find this charm?'

'Oh. Um, I created it.'

He shook his head in disbelief and glanced at Draco. 'Bloody hell. No wonder you l' – Realising what he had just about blurted out, he quickly staged a coughing fit and turned away from Draco's suspicious glare.

'Right.' Hermione tapped her spoon once more. 'Let's put it to the vote. All in favour of the prompter?'

Nada.

'All in favour of the charm?'

The vote was unanimously carried.

Hermione happily handed out pieces of parchment with the charm instructions on it, and they all got to work. It was a complete success, aside from Ron, who sneezed just as he was about to demonstrate the action while casting the charm, so his action became the sneeze.

Hermione tried her hardest to remove the charm so he could start again, but he just kept on sneezing.

'What the hell am I going to do?' Ron cried in a panic.

Exasperated, she replied 'You'll have to learn your lines off by heart, then.'

Ron panicked even more.

She put a comforting arm around him and squeezed gently. 'Don't worry, Ron,' she said. 'Everyone's entitled to sneeze once in a while. It'll be okay.'

Ron wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tight. 'You're so brilliant, 'Mione,' he stuttered into her hair. 'I've really missed you, you know.'

Hermione tried to extricate herself from his vice-like grip. 'Er, well, that's all right.'

Ron released her, and gazed down at her with adoration. 'Maybe we could' –

'Ron! Get a move on! It's nearly curfew!' Harry was standing by the portrait hole, tapping his foot.

'Oh, yeah, all right. Um. Good night, 'Mione,' Ron said softly.

Hermione did her best to smile back. 'Night, Ron, Harry.'

When the portrait hole closed, she took a breath and turned around to face Draco, hoping that he wasn't about to go off at the sight of Ron's attempted advances.

He sat on the settee, leaning forward with his face buried in his hands. He was shaking.

'My God, Draco, what's the matter?'

He leaned back, and she realised with relief that he was far from crying. Tears were running down his face, yes, but they were tears of near-hysterical laughter.

'Weasley,' he gasped, holding his sides. 'Every time he forgets a line he has to fucking sneeze' – he set off laughing again.

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'So mature,' she chided as she headed upstairs.

In the bathroom, she looked in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. The giggles overcame her, and toothpaste foam sprayed everywhere.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N For chapters 11 and 12, the costume inspirations come from 'Romeo and Juliet' (2013), Starring Hailee Steinfeld and Colin Booth. Directed by Carlo Carlei. The script isn't true to the play, but everything else is lovely.**

* * *

In the Heads' Common Room, the atmosphere was glum. Hermione and Draco sat on the settee side by side, elbows on their knees, chins on their hands.

'One day to go,' murmured Draco.

'Yep. One teensy, tiny little day.'

'Yep.'

'Look at what we've done.'

'I know. It boggles the mind when you think about it.'

Tears started to fall down Hermione's cheeks.

'Hey, love.' Draco started to reach for her but she jumped up and whirled around.

'I'm not ashamed of you!'

Draco's jaw clenched at Hermione's sharp segue.

'See?' she wailed. 'You think I'm ashamed of you!'

'You have reason to be,' he said as he looked away.

'I've never had reason to be!' Hermione dropped to her knees and grasped his hands. 'All right, up until last year, you were a righteous and total git! Had I been with you then, well, yeah, I would have been ashamed. But in the war – you acquitted yourself well, facing pressures any adult twice your age would have struggled to cope with. And this year? I had no idea before this year what it was like to be this happy. To feel so safe. To love someone so much. And it's because of you' -

She got no further, as Draco hauled her up onto his lap and kissed her so simply, so beautifully that it achoed clearly in both their hearts.

'Marry me,' he whispered.

'Oh, Godric,' she half-laughed.

'I'm serious.'

She pulled back from him, looking incredulous. 'But-but-we haven't even sat our N.E.W.T.s!'

Draco started laughing. 'The two aren't mutually exclusive, you know.'

Hermione put a hand on her thumping heart. 'I – I – don't know what to say.'

'I'll owl the Daily Prophet immediately.'

She raised a shaking finger to his cheekbone and stroked it. 'How long have you been thinking about this?'

He didn't want to freak her out and admit he'd been dreaming about it for a long, long time. 'Since the Quidditch Cup match.'

'Yeah, that was a red-letter day.'

He cleared his throat. 'I, um notice you haven't given me an answer…'

'True. I guess you kind of deserve one.'

'Magnanimous of you.'

A smile shaped her lips. 'I want us to be together for the rest of our lives. But' – as his eyes lit up – 'if it's okay with you, can you ask me again in a year's time? By then I should have become accustomed to the idea.'

It wasn't the response he'd hoped for, but it was very much a Hermione response. He smiled and opened his arms, and she sank into them, fitting in to him so well. 'I will, love.'

Silence.

'So,' Draco said, 'tomorrow evening we're going to kiss in front of our friends, fellow students, Professors and parents. We gonna do this?'

'Damn right we are.'

'And afterwards, we're going to tell our friends and our parents that we're together, and in it for the long haul. Correct?'

'Correct. Even your parents.' Hermione swallowed.

'Now, now. Where's that Gryffindor courage?' He kissed her nose.

'I'm saving it for the play itself. If I have any left afterwards, I'll let you know.'

'How about we just take it as it comes?'

'All right.' She smiled, the smile she has only for him.

'Shall we practice the kissing scenes, then?'

'Seems wise.'

Five minutes later…

'Draco…'

'Hmm…'

'Draco…'

'Hmm…'

'Draco!'

He sighed and pulled his lips away from hers. 'What?'

'I forgot that Ginny asked me to pass on a message…'

* * *

'Good joke, Weaslette.'

Ginny raised a delicate red eyebrow. 'It's no joke, I assure you.'

'Weasley, bring your sister into line.'

'I'd like to, believe me. But I can't.'

'Why not, for Salazar's sake?' said Blaise, exasperated.

Ron looked wounded. 'She hits really hard!'

'Uh-huh. Well, nice chatting with you bozos. Let's go, guys.' Blaise stood up and hopped off the stage. The other boys followed.

Ginny's wand was out. 'Take another step and I'll bat-bogey hex every single one of your asses,' she said in a sing-song voice.

They froze mid-pace. They knew Ginny could be relied on for following through on her threats. Dismally, they turned and shuffled back to the stage, dropping to the floor with bad grace.

'Thank you.' Ginny acknowledged their return regally. 'Now, as I was saying before the testosterone-induced panic set in, the entire school, staff and your parents will be watching the play. A lot will end up sitting some distance away from the stage. They will struggle to see the expressions on your face, unless they are augmented

'With make-up, for Circe's sake,' groaned Theo, lying on the floor and covering his face with his hands.

'Yes. Make-up.' Ginny leaned forward. 'Not that I care much, but what's the big objection to make-up?'

Ron spoke up, as if talking to a very small child. 'Because it's for girls, dumbo.'

Ginny eyed him. 'Is it?'

'Yes!'

'Is it?'

'Yes?'

She put some power behind her voice. 'Is. It?'

'Yes, for Godric's sake!'

Ginny rolled her eyes. 'We're not talking about everyday make-up. We're talking about stage make-up, used by male and female actors to highlight features on the face, such as the eyes, mouth, goatee,' she said, looking pointedly at Theo's bedraggled effort. 'People playing older characters have to look older than the younger characters, too.'

Surly silence.

She sighed. 'Look. I'll show you what we've planned for the blokes, and you lot can go down to the end of the Great Hall and see what it's like from a distance. Okay?'

'Hey, where's Malfoy?' Blaise asked suddenly. How come he's not at this beauty salon?'

'I left Hermione to work on him,' Ginny said. 'Now! Who among the boys is going to volunteer?'

Every head turned to Harry, who looked behind him in case someone was standing there. There wasn't.

He bit down on his groan, hauled himself up and shuffled over to Ginny. The cast applauded him enthusiastically. He gave them the finger.

Ginny was pleased. 'Thanks, hon. Now, hop on this stool and close your eyes. Ladies, gather around. Gentlemen, amuse yourselves in whatever depraved way you see fit, but don't leave the Great Hall.'

'Yes Ma'am.'

Eventually Harry got over panicking about what they were doing to his face, and started enjoying the attention. Ginny's hands were cool, gentle and confident. Parvati, Lavender, Millicent, Pansy and Daphne sat around Ginny, giving suggestions and feedback. How nice, he thought, to have six women ogling me…

Had he opened his eyes, he would have seen that everyone was ogling him. The boys got bored with being confined to the Great Hall, and as their curiosity got the better of them, they nonchalantly wandered back and forth behind the ladies, casting equally-nonchalant glances at Harry.

Finally, Ginny deemed Harry's face to be complete. She dug out a mirror from her gigantic and many-layered make-up case and handed it to him, biting her lip a little nervously.

Harry took a deep breath, and looked. Yikes! He almost looked like another person! She'd shaded and shaped his eyebrows so they looked more prominent, always handy for glowering. His eyes were lined with black eyeliner. She'd shaded his cheekbones to give him a gaunt, haunted Tybalt look, and coloured his lips just one shade darker than his natural lip colour. She'd pencilled in parts of his goatee where it was a little uneven in places. She even hid his scar.

In short, he didn't look like a muggle clown from hell. Or, even worse, a woman.

The girls loved it. The boys, however, still needed convincing.

'Right,' Ginny announced. Harry and Nott, stay here on the stage. Everyone else, hoof it to the end of the Hall.'

'Why do I have to stay?' whined Theo.

'Because you're the point of comparison. You have similar colouring to Harry, so everyone else can see the difference between a bloke with make-up and a bloke without.'

'Oh.'

Ginny waited until the group got to the end of the Hall and peered at the boys on stage. After a few minutes of looking and discussion amongst themselves, she said 'So, whose features are easier to see?'

The girls immediately cried 'Potter!'

The boys reluctantly mumbled 'Potter.'

'Excellent.' Ginny beamed. 'I trust you boys are confident enough in your own masculinity to cope with wearing make-up for a few hours without worrying that you're going to grow breasts or have an overwhelming desire to shave your legs?'

'Yes,' was the mumbled consensus.

'Ron?'

'Yeah, all right! But Fred and George are going to give me grief about this for the rest of my life.'

'Probably,' Ginny grinned. 'Well, that's it from me, unless anyone has questions, or something to add?'

She was drowned out by the sound of stampeding feet exiting the Hall.

* * *

'Hey, Gregory.'

It took Goyle a few seconds to realise that someone was calling his name. No-one ever called him Gregory except his Mum.

He turned around, and his eyes lit upon Parvati Patil, object of his lustful obsession for the past few weeks, in the flesh. 'H-Hi, Parvati,' he said.

Hi, boner, he thought.

The stampede of students from the Great Hall had slowed to a trickle, flowing loosely around Goyle and Parvati, standing in the corridor. Winding some of her long hair around a finger and biting her lip, Goyle thought she looked nervous. But why on earth would she be? Beauty, brains, body…

She cleared her throat and looked straight at him. 'I was wondering if you'd like a Butterbeer?' Then, seeing Goyle's excellent impression of a stunned mullet, added, for clarification, 'With me?'

'Yeah, that would be… um, now?'

'Now.' Then she smiled slowly, a Slytherin-esque portrayal that had his cock practically banging against his pants, desperate to get out. 'I know a place.'

She turned and headed for the stairs. 'Coming?' she asked, flicking her hair over her shoulder and glancing back at him.

Nearly, whimpered Goyle to himself. 'Right behind you!' he called out, and headed after her, inconspicuously adjusting his tackle.

Many, many, many flights of stairs later, Goyle found himself on the seventh floor, standing next to Parvati in front of a hideous tapestry depicting trolls prancing around in tutus. Ah, Goyle noted. The Room of Requirement.

Holy shit.

Parvati's invited me to The Room of Fucking Requirement.

With a sidelong glance at Goyle, Parvati stepped forward and walked past the tutu-ed trolls three times, concentrating hard. Goyle nearly sobbed with frustrated relief when the door appeared. He remembered his manners, and opened the door for Parvati, who smiled at him saucily, then entered the room.

After Goyle entered and closed the door, he slowly turned around. On one side of the room was a warm and merry fire, hissing and crackling in an enormous fireplace. A large couch with soft, buttery leather faced the fire. In front of it was a low table, with the promised Butterbeer and glasses sitting on top.

On the other side of the room was a large bed.

In the middle of the room was the girl he'd been crushing on for many, many weeks.

'So,' his crush said. 'Like it?'

'Very much so,' rasped Goyle, looking only at her.

'Good. I hope I'm not being forward? And that the erection you had when I measured you for your costume wasn't just something that appeared for no reason at all?'

'Not that one, no,' he replied truthfully.

Parvati smiled her Slytherin smile. 'Now you get to choose, Gregory,' she purred. 'Do you want a Butterbeer?' – she indicated the couch – 'or, do you want to fuck me with your enormous cock?' She pointed to the bed.

Goyle took a steadying breath. Then he strode forward, picked Parvati up, wrapped her legs around his hips and kissed her hard.

* * *

It had come.

The great day itself.

The school was giddy with excitement, chattering animatedly at the breakfast tables, speculating on what they might see that evening.

The play cast, however, weren't quite so animated. Aside from Goyle and Patil, who, for some reason, were drinking coffee with private smiles on their faces, the rest of the cast half-heartedly pushed food around their plates, chewed fingernails and wondered how the hell they ever got suckered into this exercise in public humiliation.

Not so, Ron Weasley. With his script on the table next to his plate, he was shovelling in words as fast as he was shovelling in his bacon, eggs and toast.

Then he stopped and stared into space.

Hermione and Draco, sitting opposite him, looked at each other uncertainly. 'Ron?' Hermione ventured.

He blinked. Then he roared 'I'M NEVER GOING TO MEMORISE ALL THESE FUCKING LINES!' then banged his fists on the table. Food went absolutely everywhere. Students dove under the table. Harry, Ginny and Hermione, with tight reflexes borne of their years of exposure to Ron's eating habits, cast shields and kept picking at their food.

'20 points from Gryffindor, Mr Weasley!' was Professor McGonagall's judgement from the High Table.

'You'll be fine, Ron,' said Hermione stoutly. 'Please don't get into a state by trying to remember every line. Once you're on stage, it will all come naturally. And you still have the charm to fall back on. People honestly won't care if you sneeze a few times. Just don't overthink it, okay?'

Draco, a much improved man but still a wanker on occasion, sniggered and said 'There'll be no chance of that happening, eh Weas – OW!' he clutched his shin and glared at Hermione.

She looked at him coolly. 'Not helping, Malfoy.'

Weasley smirked at Draco, and smiled gratefully at Hermione. 'Thanks, 'Mione. God knows where I'd be without you.'

Draco mourned so many opportunities lost for slinging clever one-liners.

Professor Clarence skipped down the aisle to the Gryffindor table. 'Today's the day, my dears!' she trilled. 'Oh! Isn't this exciting! I can't until this evening when the curtain finally goes up, and everyone can see how hard you've all worked!'

Oblivious to the lack of reciprocal agreement from the table, she stuck her head between Hermione's and Draco's. 'Now, my dears,' she said, 'I take it there are no more issues of an, er, intimate nature between you two?'

Ginny choked on a piece of apple. Harry, sniggering at the Professor's words, thumped her between the shoulder blades to dislodge it.

'Good gracious, Miss Weasley, you must be more careful!' admonished Professor Clarence.

'Yes, Professor,' Ginny said faintly, trying hard not to laugh.

Draco looked offended at the implication that there were issues with his, er, intimacy, shall we say.

'We can assure you, Professor,' Hermione said with her face red, 'everything will be fine.'

Ron scowled. He did not like the sound of that.

'Wonderful, wonderful!' She stood up to her full height, diminutive as it was, and addressed the cast and crew at the table. 'The day is yours today! Have fun, get some fresh air, but no playing Quidditch or any similar game that might result in broken bones, we don't have time to grow them back. Meet here for an early supper, then we'll assemble in the Green Room for hair and make-up at six o'clock! Ta-ra!'

Then she sashayed off to repeat the news to the Slytherin table.

Harry checked the time. 'T minus nine hours, then,' he noted to Hermione.

* * *

'Bloody, bloody hell,' Ron whispered from his spot just behind the stage curtain, as he inserted an eye between the curtain joins and goggled at the rapidly growing audience.

'Is me Mam there?' whispered Seamus, standing next to him, looking for a peephole of his own.

'Yep. She's talking the ears off McGonagall.'

'Ah, shite.'

'Oh, Godric, there's Mum and Dad, front and centre, as usual. The Grangers are with them; they can't stop staring up at the ceiling.' It was looking spectacularly lovely as a star-lit twilight, and would darken to a night sky when the play opened. Then –

'You have to be fucking kidding me!' Ron moaned.

Seamus was still operating blind. 'What? What?'

'They bloody well brought Fred and George with them! Oh, Godric, my life is over, over, over!'

Seamus patted his shoulder in sympathy, then both boys were suddenly collared, yanked backwards and tossed into the wings by Professor Snape.

'Ow.' Rubbing his bum from the less than gentle landing, Ron asked 'How come you're backstage, sir? Uh, not that you're not welcome, of course' –

'Someone has to keep order and discipline in this den of chaos,' intoned Snape. 'You really think Professor Clarence is capable?'

Sure enough, Professor Clarence was buzzing like a very plump and hysterical bumblebee from one spot to another, issuing half a sentence's-worth of instructions to a crew member before getting distracted and buzzing off somewhere else to deliver the rest of the instructions.

Snape watched her dizzying progress and shuddered. 'I have taken it upon myself to ensure that everything is where it should be, and everyone will be where they are required. As for the quality of the acting' – he glared at Ron – 'unfortunately, I have no control.'

'Ah. So you're the stage manager, then, sir?' asked Seamus.

Snape looked down his nose at him. 'Does that title infer that I have complete and utter control over everything that happens on and off-stage?'

'Pretty much, yeah.'

'Then I am he.' Snape gathered up his robes. 'Excuse me, gentlemen, I have a play to save from destruction.' Then he headed off, silently stalking Professor Clarence.

The two boys looked at each other. 'Funny. You'd think he'd want the play to crash and burn,' commented Ron. 'The old bugger's at his happiest when he's surrounded by misery.'

'You're never safe from surprise until you're dead,' intoned Seamus solemnly.

Ron eyed him in amazement. 'That's profound, man.'

'It is, yeah.'

'Come on.' Ron clapped an arm around Seamus's shoulders and they headed to the Green Room. 'You can help me with my lines.'

'Oh, hang your bloody lines!'

* * *

At last, the moment came. The muted cacophony of the orchestra tuning up its instruments and the frantic practicing of complicated snippets of the score reduced to silence with Professor Flitwick's tapped baton. The audience stopped shuffling, gossiping, poking each other in the sides to point out some architectural feature or poorly-judged attire, and turned as one to the stately figure of Professor Dumbledore as he strode to the front of the stage.

Resplendent in front of the lush stage curtains, he beamed a benevolent smile to all and sundry, and spoke.

'My dear friends, students, staff and parents – and other honoured guests,' he said, nodding at Fred and George, who grinned cheekily back. Thank you all for coming to Hogwarts's first ever theatrical production of Mr William Shakespeare's beautiful and tragic play 'Romeo and Juliet.'

'A tragedy?' whispered Fred. 'This is going to be a fun night.'

Mrs Weasley whacked him with her handbag without anyone noticing, a skill she had perfected after raising seven energetic children.

'It has been said that Mr Shakespeare was, in fact, a wizard, not the muggle, or human, he is supposed to have been. This theory came to light because certain wizards could not believe that a mere muggle was capable of writing so prolifically, on such diverse topics, utilising such beautiful language – in fact, coining many words and phrases we still use today.

'But all of us here in this Hall know that there is no one type of being that is superior to another being. We know that witches and wizards have skills and abilities that are not present in the muggle world, just as muggles possess extraordinary knowledge and use technology in a way that the wizarding world cannot comprehend. By working together, we can all live extraordinary lives in peace, just as the senior years of Gryffindor and Slytherin have worked together to produce what I am sure will be a spectacular muggle-style play.

'But that's enough rambling from this old man,' the good Professor twinkled. 'Please join me in applauding these wonderful young men and women as they produce, for our entertainment, Romeo and Juliet!'

The audience applauded the venerable Professor enthusiastically, and Professor Flitwick struck up the orchestra.

In the Green Room, Hermione wiped tears from her eyes and whispered to Harry 'I'm going to miss Professor Dumbledore so much after we graduate!'

Luna, who had been roped in by Ginny to help with hair and make-up (admittedly to the alarm of some Slytherins) tutted and frog-marched Hermione back to the make-up bench to touch up her eyes.

Meanwhile on stage, under Professor Snape's beady eye, the curtains rose. Goyle, doubling as the Chorus and the Prince of Verona, strode onto centre stage, cast his eyes across the audience, bowed, then began to speak those famous opening words.

 _Two households, both alike in dignity_

 _(In fair Verona, where we lay our scene)._

 _From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,_

 _Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean._

His voice confidently reached all corners of the Great Hall, which was secretly charmed so the audience could clearly hear the actors without them having to shout. 'If anyone asks, it's acoustics,' said Hermione firmly, as she cast the charms.

Goyle arrived at the conclusion of the opening speech.

 _And the continuance of their parents' rage,_

 _Which, but their children's end, naught could remove,_

 _Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage –_

 _The which, if you with patient ears attend,_

 _What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.'_

'Did he just tell us the plot?' George mouthed to Fred.

'Beats me. I don't understand a bloody word – ow! Mum!'

The curtain fell, and Professor Flitwick's orchestra came to life again.

Goyle staggered offstage, desperate for a drink. He was met, however, by something much better – a proud Parvati Patil. 'You were awesome!' she exclaimed, and hugged him tight.

'Gods, I was nervous,' he muttered into her elaborate hairstyle.

When they ended their embrace, they were met by a sea of actors with open mouths, a beaming Professor Clarence and one eye-rolling Professor Snape.

'Please conduct your affair in the Green Room, you are taking up valuable space here,' drawled the Professor. 'Sampson and Gregory, you're on.'

* * *

And before they knew it, the masquerade ball was in full swing. Most of the cast were onstage, dancing, but Juliet stood out from the others in her floor-length, flowing, blue gown with a transparent gauze overskirt, wreath of forget-me-nots and baby's breath and an ornate, metallic blue-green domino. Hermione wanted to look out into the audience to see if she could find her parents, but she didn't dare. She might come across the patrician features of Lord and Lady Malfoy instead, and that would be enough for all her carefully-practiced lines to pack up and head for the hills.

Romeo, dressed in black because Draco just looks damn awesome in it, led Juliet to the front of the stage, and the hustle and bustle of the ball melted away.

 _Have not saints lips, and holy palmers, too?_ Draco asked with a smile.

Hermione smiled back. _Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer._

She didn't feel nervous. Not with Draco right beside her. Glancing at him, she knew he was also his usual, confident self.

Then the moment arrived.

Draco held Hermione's face in his hands. _Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take._

Everyone was watching from the wings, holding their breath. Even Snape clutched his parchment of directions a bit harder.

Draco lowered his face to her raised one, meeting her sparkling eyes. He smiled his secret smile. Their lips met slowly, gently, sweetly.

Backstage, Professor Clarence fainted with relief into Professor Snape's arms. Ginny and Luna hugged each other and jumped up and down with excitement, before being spotted by Snape and silently ordered back to the Green Room using his eyebrows, his arms rather full of Professor. Ron ground his teeth, and Harry's hand hovered over Ron's collar, in case he decided to break character and storm onstage to separate them.

Onstage, neither Draco nor Hermione wanted to end the kiss. As Hermione half-heartedly made to move away, he captured her lips again, wanting one last taste. Draco figured this would be what Romeo would have wanted.

They parted eventually and looked at each other, realising they'd finally banished the kissing-in-public bogeyman from their midst.

Still a bit dazed, Draco murmured _Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged._

Hermione responded, almost hungrily _Then have my lips the sin that they have took._

Draco shook his head in disbelief. _Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again._

They kissed once more.

In the audience, a grinning Fred nudged a grinning George. ' _Now_ it's getting interesting!'

* * *

 **A/N: it's not over yet! Trust me, there's things that still need completing! Thanks so much for reading so far. To misquote Mr Shakespeare: 'I might call you/A thing divine, for nothing natural/I ever saw so noble.' Mwah!**


	13. Chapter 13

Let us take a short interlude and canvass some audience reactions.

 **The house-elves**

As the play proceeded, house-elf after house-elf crept in to the back of the Great Hall and tried to see what was happening on the stage. Being little, this proved to be a wee bit of a challenge, but they resolved this by sitting on each other's shoulders, forming tall, wobbly towers of elf. All watched Romeo and Juliet's discourse as though they were at a tennis match – all heads turning to Romeo, then to Juliet, back and forth, back and forth.

 **Mr Weasley**

Mr Weasley looked stunned by the entire production, and pleased as punch that his youngest son and only daughter had such significant roles in it, one way or the other. Ron should really see a healer about that cold, though, he thought. Poor boy's been sneezing nearly non-stop at times.

 **Mrs Weasley**

Mrs Weasley was caught up in the drama and spectacle. Such a pity dear Hermione had to kiss that Malfoy boy, she thought, when it should have been Ronald instead. Even Harry would do. Bless him, doesn't poor Harry look gaunt? He needs feeding up, that's what.

Still, the intense look of love on that Malfoy boy's face every time he looks at dear Hermione – gracious, what a good actor he is! And why are Ronald's allergies acting up so badly? I must have a word with Poppy Pomfrey after the play.

 **Fred and George Weasley**

Despite Fred and George's initial interpretation difficulties, they found themselves thoroughly entertained. They particularly liked the sword fights, and hoped more would come. The sight of their brother prancing on a stage in make-up was a memory they would treasure for the rest of their lives. And at the hands of their dear sister, no less!

They even devised a potential new product for their store: if these Shakespeare plays were going to take off in the wizarding world, they should invent some sort of hand-held device that translates Shakespearian verse into plain English as it is being spoken. Excellent!

 **Mrs Granger**

Mrs Granger was transfixed. Look at my dear girl, she thought proudly. How confident and beautiful she is! I do like what she's done with her hair. And Romeo… dishy! Lucky girl, getting to kiss him. I hope he's not that Malfoy boy, the one that bullied her for years and years.

 **Mr Granger**

Mr Granger still couldn't get over the enchanted ceiling twinkling above him. Thank God I can watch the stars every time that blond punk tries to play tonsil tennis with my daughter, he silently fumed. He's enjoying it far too much. I can tell. He'd better keep his hands where I can see them.

 **Mrs Malfoy**

Mrs Malfoy's beautiful features were serene, not betraying any of the thoughts tumbling through her head. Oh, my dear boy looks so good on the stage, she thought. I always thought he would make a fine actor, even though the profession itself is below gauche. For Purebloods, anyway.

With that beard, he looks older than his true age. Goodness - he's a man, now. It's time for him to make his own decisions and carve out a life for himself. And is that… surely not…but it is! Miss Granger is playing Juliet! How well they look together! How odd.

And whatever's wrong with that ridiculous Weasley boy, it had better not be catching.

 **Mr Malfoy**

Mr Malfoy sat entirely still, his hands resting lightly on top of his cane. Not a single word or action on stage missed his scrutiny. Of course Shakespeare was a wizard, he thought contemptuously. What the Hades does that old fool know? How could any Mu-muggle possibly write such clever and beautiful verse?

It is right that the principal role went to my son, he thought. Even in this…questionable… activity, Malfoys must always lead. He's quite brilliant – who else but a Malfoy could pretend to love Juliet so much as Draco?

Hmm… Juliet's quite a comely wench, actually. Maybe my boy isn't pretending quite so hard, after all? He permitted himself a silent snigger.

But wait…can it be? Salazar Slytherin's sagging scrotum, it's her. The Mu-muggle girl. Granger. Gods preserve us all. She has no right to look so beautiful, bewitching my son like that. There must be some school rule against it. Dumbledore shall hear of this.

 **Professor Dumbledore**

Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall sat up the front. Dumbledore was smiling as he followed the action. He was one of the few wizards, of course, who was intimately familiar with the play.

This humble author wouldn't dare be so bold as to perform Legilimency on the great man himself, so we'll just nip off to Professor McGonagall.

 **Professor McGonagall**

The good lady was caught up in every moment, eyes on stalks, hanging on to every word. She immediately resolved to read every single piece of work Mr Shakespeare produced, starting this very night.

Oh, dear. A mixed bag of reactions, shall we say.

* * *

It was time for that scene. No, not the one at the end! You know, the scene where Romeo and Juliet, as secret husband and wife, consummate their love before Romeo undertakes his banishment from Verona.

(Yes, yes, it's not true to the play. But the author craves a little artistic licence and your patience…)

Harry, who as Tybalt, had been recently killed by Romeo and thus was at a loose end until the, er, end, picked an unobtrusive spot in the wings to watch the poignant scene with Ginny, and everyone else in the cast and crew.

A scene which Draco and Hermione had been unable to completely act out. Until now.

The stage slowly lit up to reveal a beautiful, high-domed room with windows that looked out onto a starlit garden.

It was sparsely furnished, with an escritoire, some tall free-standing candelabra, and a large, white four-poster bed, raised on a shallow platform and swathed on three sides with translucent silver chiffon that billowed lightly in an unseen breeze.

Juliet sat writing at her escritoire, a lonely figure, clothed in a flowing white nightgown and a delicately-embroidered pink shawl that wrapped around her slim arms and fell to the floor.

The candles flickered, and a shadow appeared on the stage. Juliet's heart was full, and she hastened to where her passionate, beautiful husband stood.

Romeo, in turn, watched his wife approach, in awe of her beauty and her love – love that was for him, and him alone. He refused to think that this might be the last time they would meet. Would touch. Would kiss. No. Like a soldier who never knows if he will live to see tomorrow's sunset, he would take all he could, savour every moment, commit each and every thing to memory. Fill his head. His heart. His soul.

It was a scene without words, accompanied by a sole violinist, playing a slow, hypnotic tune. Words would be uttered in the early morning, when Romeo, bravely or foolishly, take your pick, finds it so hard to leave his beautiful, loving wife that he would risk being killed, if only he could stay with her.

But for now, Romeo embraced Juliet as if he were clinging to his last shred of life.

They stood before the bed. Audience members with sharp eyes might have noticed Romeo softly tell Juliet that he loved her before their lips met, which certainly isn't in the script.

They kissed; slowly, longingly, never wanting to let go. Romeo's hands drifted up Juliet's arms, and her shawl fell away, pooling on the stage floor; a gentle facsimile of a man slowly undressing his lover.

Romeo pressed a kiss to the hollow of Juliet's throat; her head fell back in bliss, and her hair rippled down her back.

Juliet undid Romeo's jacket, and it slid to the floor. They kissed again, but with urgency this time, breathing hard when they parted.

All around was silence. Not a peep from the audience, caught up in the moment. Nothing from backstage. Not even from Ron, who was so incensed at the erotic imagery onstage that he was rendered speechless.

Romeo pulled away slightly from Juliet; kissed her hands, then let them fall.

He pulled his linen shirt over his head and stood before her. Proud. Vulnerable.

A collective intake of breath expelled from the audience. It was mostly an appreciative intake of breath. There may have been one or two strangled gasps from roughly where Mr Malfoy and Mr Granger were sitting, respectively.

Juliet's trembling fingers traced a path from Romeo's throat, over his sternum and down to his navel. Biting her lip nervously, she looked up at his face. She found desire, sadness, bust most of all, overwhelming love.

Romeo collected Juliet up in his arms, and carried her to the bed. Laying her gently down, he knelt above her, cradled her face in his hands, and sealed their love with an achingly haunting kiss.

Professor Snape came to his senses, and the stage lights went dark.

Mr Granger asked his wife if it was safe to look at the stage now.

* * *

'What the hell is Malfoy playing at?' fumed Ron, pacing back and forth in the Green Room.

Ginny yawned. 'Give it a rest, Ron. It's called acting.'

Ron rounded on her in fury. 'That's my girl he's mauling on stage, in front of everyone!'

Harry stepped up next to Ginny. 'She's not your girlfriend, mate,' he said gently.

'Well, not right now, no.' Ron commenced another spirited pace around the room. 'But she's come around to me again, anyone can see that, right?' He stopped and glared at them. 'Right?'

Harry and Ginny looked at each other. 'I really think she just wants to be your friend,' said Ginny.

'Rubbish.' Ron looked at himself in one of the mirrors and adjusted his costume. 'I'll tell her right after the final curtain.'

'Um, tell her what?'

'That it's time for us to be back together again.' He checked his face in the mirror. 'Gin, can you fix me up? I'm a bit shiny here.'

Ginny sent an exasperated look to Harry, who threw up his hands.

* * *

And here we are. The Capulet tomb. Where Tybalt and Juliet were just so recently laid to rest. See? Juliet sleeps the sleep of the dead, on top of her marble dais. Silent and cold.

Romeo stumbled in, bone weary and heartsore. He gazed down at his beautiful wife, whose features death had yet to mar.

 **Romeo: -** _Ah, dear Juliet,_

 _Why are thou yet so fair? Shall I believe_

 _That unsubstantial death is amorous,_

 _And that the lean abhorred monster keeps_

 _Thee here in dark to be his paramour?_

 _For fear of that, I will stay with thee,_

 _And never from this palace of dim night_

 _Depart again._

Poor, heartbroken Romeo swallowed deadly poison, and laid down beside Juliet for the second, and final, time.

Holding her body, he kissed her goodbye. A tear fell on to Juliet's cheek.

Then he was no more.

Juliet stirred, the effects of the Friar's potion having worn off. Romeo lay next to her. She was overjoyed to see him, but he was cold and unresponsive to her increasingly desperate touch. Tearfully, frantically, she searched for answers to his condition, and discovered the bottle of poison, still clasped in his dead hand.

She greedily put the vial to her lips; but there was nothing left.

She kissed her husband, searching for any lingering trace of what killed him. But death will not take her this way.

Her hand brushed his dagger. She drew it from its scabbard. Its lethal blade glinted in the tomb's candlelight.

 **Juliet:** _O happy dagger,_

 _This is thy sheath. There rust and let me die._

Tears streamed down Juliet's face. The hand holding the dagger shook, so she stilled it with the other. Looking down onto the face of her husband, she plunged it into her heart, a cry of agony breaking free from her lips.

The audience, on the verge of their seats, were also on the verge of tears. Still reeling from Romeo's poignant death, they were distraught by Juliet's violent demise. Handkerchiefs were pulled out from sleeves, pockets and handbags, dabbing watery eyes, wet cheeks and red noses. Those without the foresight to come prepared made discreet use of their sleeves. Others just sat still, stunned, with eyes and mouths round with disbelief.

Up the back, the house-elves burst into loud and watery howls of grief, scaring the bejesus out of audience members sitting nearby.

Finally, it was Goyle's time to bring the play to a close.

 **Prince:** _A glooming peace this morning with it brings._

 _The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head._

 _Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things._

 _Some shall be pardoned, and some punished._

 _For never was a story of more woe_

 _Than this of Juliet and her Romeo._

Goyle bowed to the audience, signifying the end. Professor Flitwick, with suspiciously red eyes, coaxed the orchestra into its final, melancholy melody.

The audience was struck dumb.

Goyle, still bowing, looked discreetly into the wings at Snape, who was poised to bring the curtain down. But it seemed rather eerie to do so with an unresponsive audience, so he stayed his hand.

So, the audience thought it sucked, thought Snape. Good try though, Draco. And Granger.

But wait - the sound of a single person clapping echoed around the Hall. It was Professor Dumbledore, beaming with pride and wiping a couple of tears from his eyes. Next to him, Professor McGonagall came to, and joined in, still clutching her handkerchief.

The audience collectively shook itself and enthusiastically added their hands to the applause. Except the house-elves, who were inconsolable.

Goyle straightened up and watched with amazement as the audience in its entirety – yes, even Mr and Mrs Malfoy, stood up and applauded.

Romeo and Juliet, still dead but in the background, linked pinky fingers.

It was done.

* * *

Curtain call time!

The cast proudly marched onto the stage in pairs, acknowledging the applause and cheers of the audience with bows and beaming smiles. Fred and George let off ear-splitting whistles of appreciation, until Mrs Weasley got in a sharp one-two with her handbag and thwacked them in their solar plexuses.

The noise grew louder as the cast assembled into lines. Draco and Hermione stood in opposite wings, waiting for their turn. Draco caught Hermione's eye across the stage. She was beaming with pride and relief, and he probably thought he looked the same.

She grinned at him, and winked.

He winked back.

Then, to the audience's manic delight, Draco and Hermione finally strode to the centre of the stage, linked arms, then headed to stage front to bow, or curtsey.

The house-elves were quite taken aback, but very relieved, to see Romeo and Juliet alive again.

Draco and Hermione turned to each other. Draco held Hermione's hands and brought them up. Smiling, he looked down into her eyes, lowered his head, and kissed her.

She stood on her tip-toes and wrapped her hands around his neck, while he wrapped his arms around her waist.

And thus, the curtain fell on our kissing couple.

* * *

'Ahem.'

No response.

'Malfoy.'

No response.

'MALFOY!'

Draco and Hermione unlocked lips and looked around to see that the curtain had fallen for the final time and the cast and crew were standing on stage, staring at them.

Blaise stepped forward, Slytherin smirk on full sneer mode. 'So, do you two have something you want to tell us?' he asked.

Draco and Hermione linked hands. 'Yeah', said Draco. 'We're together.'

'Rather an understatement, wouldn't you say?'

'Not really. The facts of it are pretty simple,' Draco replied. 'Boy meets girl, they argue and fight for seven years, make up and fall in love. So, yeah. We're together.'

'Good.' Blaise smiled.

'Good?' Draco was surprised.

'Yeah. Good.' Blaise's lip flickered, then he started laughing. 'About fucking time, too!'

Amazed, Draco and Hermione looked around at their friends and peers. All of them were smiling or laughing. Parvati and Goyle had their arms around each other, looking like two cats who had stumbled upon an awful lot of cream.

All except for….

''Mione, what in the name of Godric Gryffindor is going on?'

Ron stomped up to the pair, red of face (despite make-up) and breathing fire. 'You can't be with him.' He sneered at Malfoy, whose hackles started rising.

Hermione put a calming hand on Draco's arm and turned to Ron. 'I am with him, Ron.' She sighed. 'In fact, we've been together for months.'

Ron's redness evolved into a shade of red never before seen.

'We wanted to let our friends know at time, but we were concerned that some people' – Hermione narrowed her gaze at Ron but he completely missed it – 'would react badly. So we…' Hermione trailed off and looked at Draco, biting her lip.

'We convinced Professor Clarence to put on this play as a way of introducing the concept of two people from different backgrounds being meant for each other.' Draco lifted his chin defiantly and cast the Malfoy Look around the stage.

'Wow,' Pansy said. 'That's a hell of a lot of work you put us all through.'

'Um, yeah…'

'But hell, it was fun!' She grinned. 'This has been the best year of school ever!'

A chorus of cheerful 'Yeahs!' and other agreements sounded out.

Meanwhile, Ron couldn't believe his ears. 'I can't believe my ears!' he yelled. ''Mione, don't throw your future away with that Slytherin twat. You know we're meant to be together.'

Harry and Ginny stepped up to either side of him. 'Ron, you need to let go and move on,' Harry said firmly. 'Hermione and Draco are in a serious relationship.'

'Rubbish,' filibustered Ron.

'No, it's not rubbish,' Ginny said. 'They're good for each other. They're good to each other. They're supposed to be together. Like me and Harry.' She looked up at Harry, who smiled and kissed her on the nose.

'Ron, I can't be your girlfriend,' Hermione said softly. 'But I'll always be a part of your life. As a good friend.'

Ron must have let off some steam, because he was looking rather deflated. 'But I'll miss you,' he said with a suspiciously wobbly lower lip.

With a quick glance at Draco, Hermione gathered him in her arms and hugged him. 'You can't miss me; I'll never be far away.'

Stepping back, she looked at Draco and Ron. 'I would really like it if you two could stop flinging insults at each other, one day,' she said hopefully.

Draco and Ron glared at each and stomped off in opposite directions.

Hermione sighed and wrapped her arms around Harry, who came over to hug her. 'That went well.'

'It did,' replied Harry. 'They didn't beat each other up or hex each other.'

'I guess so,' she sighed.

'Oh, good, everyone's here! I can't believe how well everyone performed!' Professor Clarence came bustling onto the stage. Her eyes were sparkling. 'This is the happiest moment of my life!'

Then she burst into tears so loud she would have given the house-elves a run for their money.

'There, there, Ducky,' Professor Flitwick comforted her with a hand placed as high as he could reach on her arm. 'You have much to be proud of.'

'Indeed,' intoned Professor Snape, stepping out of the wings. 'It has been a very interesting experience,' he said – high praise indeed from the imposing Potions Master.

'Three cheers for Professor Clarence!' shouted Seamus, utterly carried away.

'Hip hip, hooray!

'Hip hip, hooray!

'Hip hip, HOORAY!'

'Oh, my dears,' Professor Clarence warbled. 'I'm so overcome with it all!'

'May I suggest a restorative cup of tea in my study, my dear?' asked Professor Flitwick.

'I believe that is exactly what I need,' Professor Clarence replied gratefully. Putting a hand on Flitwick's arm, she toodle-ooed the cast and crew and sailed off.

Professor Snape watched her leave with an un-sighed sigh of relief.

* * *

'Mum! Dad!'

Hermione raced into the Great Hall and flung herself into her parents' embrace. There, among the throng of proud parents and mostly sheepish students (still in their costumes and make-up), Hermione held her parents tight.

Releasing them, she then embraced the people who were as dear to her as her own family: Mr and Mrs Weasley and the twins. Mrs Weasley, who had just finished bear-hugging Harry and tutting over his lean frame, (ignoring his protestations that it was just an illusion caused by make-up), trilled 'Oh, my dear girl, you were wonderful! I cried buckets at the end. Thank goodness I brought my self-cleaning hankie with me, otherwise I'd just be a sopping mess.'

'Ooh, I wish I had one of those,' said Mrs Granger enviously, pulling crumpled tissues from up her sleeves and cramming them into her handbag.

'Your wish is our command, dear lady,' said Fred. With a flourish, he pulled a brand-new handkerchief from somewhere on his person and presented it to a boggling Mrs Granger.

'We invented 'em,' said George proudly.

Mr Granger's eyes were round. 'Is it really magical?' he asked.

'Only the very best kind,' Fred assured him.

'Is it machine-washable?' Mrs Granger asked anxiously.

'Mum, it's self-cleaning,' laughed Hermione. You don't need to wash it.'

'Oh! Of course! Silly me. Thank you, my dears.'

Fred and George blushed and scuffed their shoes, then cornered Ron and proceeded to give him hell about his make-up.

Mrs Granger turned back to her daughter, and exclaimed over her hair. Just before Hermione launched into a very technical and magical explanation of how her curls came to be so well-behaved, Mr Granger cleared his throat and caught his wife's eye.

'So, young lady, would you care to tell us about the boy you were kissing, after the play ended, I might add?'

The Weasleys pricked up their ears and edged nonchalantly closer.

Hermione's cheeks turned pink. 'Well, yes. That was…' she broke off and mumbled something to her feet.

'Pardon, dear?'

She sighed. Here we go.

'That was Draco Malfoy,' she said clearly. 'He's Head Boy. And Slytherin Quidditch Captain. And… we're together.'

She was met with shocked silence.

Mrs Granger recovered first. 'Draco Malfoy? The Draco Malfoy about whom you constantly wrote to us, in tears, because of the way he bullied you?'

Hermione looked up at the night sky, then down at her feet. 'Yes, Mum,' she said quietly.

Mr Granger glowered. 'Has he put some kind of spell… thingy on you?' he asked tightly. 'I'm sure he's capable.'

'No, Dad. We just discovered under all the arguing and bickering that we had a lot in common. And we became friends.' She swallowed. 'And then more than friends.'

'La la la la! I don't want to hear it!' Mr Granger clapped his hands over his ears and stomped around in a circle.

'Oh, get over yourself, dear,' Mrs Granger said dismissively. She turned to Hermione and lowered her voice. 'I thought you and Ron…'

Hermione shook her head gently. 'But we'll always be friends.'

'Oh, Hermione!' Much to the Grangers' surprise, Mrs Weasley burst into tears. Mr Weasley fished the self-cleaning handkerchief out of her handbag and handed it to her.

'I'm sorry, Mrs Weasley,' Hermione said sadly.

Ron hugged his Mum. 'It'll be okay, Mum. We'll still be great friends, right 'Mione?'

'Absolutely,' she smiled.

Mrs Granger turned towards Hermione. 'Are you sure about Draco, dear?' she asked softly.

Hermione nodded. 'Definitely, Mum. I love him.'

'And I love you.'

Everyone turned around to see Draco, Mr and Mrs Malfoy standing behind Hermione and her mother. All three displayed varying levels of grim on their faces.

Heart in her mouth, Hermione remembered her manners. 'Uh, Mum, Dad, may I introduce Draco, my boyfriend, and his parents Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Draco, Mr and Mrs Malfoy' – she quailed slightly under Mr Malfoy's basilisk glare – 'may I introduce my parents, Andrew and Jean Granger.' She trailed off, while the parents nodded coolly to each other.

Draco stepped forward and offered his hand to Mr Granger. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, sir,' he said respectfully. 'Hermione talks about you and your wife often.' Looking at both Mr and Mrs Granger, he continued 'I would like to apologise, extensively, for the hurt I caused your daughter at school these previous years. I was immature and easily led. But spending time with Hermione this year has made me realise what a stupid idiot I've been. You have my word that I will never hurt her again. I hope you will forgive me.'

The hot air Mr Granger had been building up slowly disappeared. He looked at Draco's still-outstretched hand, then raised his own and shook it firmly.

Both Hermione and Draco sighed in quiet relief.

'It's a pleasure to meet you, Draco,' Mrs Granger said, blushing as Draco took her hand and kissed it, the way he had been raised to.

Beside Lucius, Narcissa briefly smiled with pride. She knew what it had cost her son to confess to a failing in public. Proof positive that Draco did, indeed, love Hermione Granger very much. Despite what her husband thought. And everyone knew what he thought, because he made it his business to let everyone know what he thought of this pairing.

'Be that as it may,' started Mr Malfoy pompously, 'some serious implications have been raised by the partnering of my son with Miss Granger. As we have only now become aware of this relationship' – he glared at Draco, who glared back – 'it pains me to have to announce that this relationship will have to be set aside.'

Amid a chorus of sputtering indignation from the Weasleys, Harry, Grangers and Mrs Malfoy, Hermione felt blindly for Draco's hand, and clung to it when their fingers connected.

'It's going better than I thought,' commented Draco.

Hermione half-laughed, half-sobbed. 'How do you figure?'

'Your parents are open-minded enough to accept us, and so is Mother. Even the Weasleys appear to be on our side. Only one more bear to bait, and we're home free.'

'He's a pretty big bear.'

'Not where Mother is concerned.' Draco touched her cheek, and gently kissed her. 'You'll see.'

Galvanised into raising his voice above the hubbub after witnessing Draco kiss the Mu-muggleborn, he said 'Draco has been promised, from birth, to a witch from another family. A Pureblood family,' he emphasised, although that term meant nothing to the Grangers.

'Oh, for Circe's sake, Lucius,' snapped Narcissa. 'The world is not the same as it was eighteen years ago. While it may not be standard for Pureblood witches and wizards to marry for love, it does happen, and their unions last a lifetime. Look at Mr and Mrs Weasley. Look at us.'

It pained Lucius to look at the Weasleys for more than a nanosecond, not that he knew what one was, and he knew if he turned and looked into his wife's beautiful eyes, he'd capitulate faster than you could say 'I am a gorgeous, silver-haired pussycat. Please rub my tummy.'

So Lucius played his last card. 'I will not allow a Mu-muggleborn to join our family.'

This time, the Grangers figured out this was a rather nasty thing to say, so they joined in the chorus of disgusted 'Ohs!' and 'Bloody hells!' from the collection of Weasleys (and Potter).

'Your wife is right, Lucius,' a dark voice drawled.

The sea of Weasleys parted to admit Professor Snape, who strolled menacingly through and came to a stop by his stubborn, judgemental friend. 'The times have changed, but you still cling to the old ways. Have you already forgotten the carnage those old ways wrought? It nearly brought about the destruction of our world.'

Lucius glared at him, but kept his mouth shut. With extreme difficulty.

Snape indicated Hermione and Draco with a sweep of his arm. 'This witch and wizard represent the new times we live in. Where the status of one's blood, or any other false status, are irrelevant. Indeed, the noble families need people like Miss Granger here. Or they will die out in a few hundred years. If you don't believe me, I'm sure Mr or Mrs Granger can confirm it.'

Being dentists, they'd have to refresh their memory on Mendelian genetics from their First Year medical studies, but both felt up to the task.

'Lucius.' Narcissa put her hand lightly on his chest. Reluctantly, he looked down at her. 'Will you risk turning your son away from you?'

He looked at Draco, who had a protective arm curled around Hermione. Draco met his gaze without fear. He was a chip off the old block, and Lucius knew he was prepared to do what it would take to stay with her.

How irritating.

'All right,' he mumbled.

'Pardon, Father?'

'All right!' Lucius snapped. 'Please bear in mind that your relationship with Miss Granger will be difficult for me to adjust to. But I will no longer openly condemn it.' He crossed his arms and stuck his nose up in the air. 'That's the best I can do for now.'

Narcissa wiggled under his embrace and kissed him. 'Thank you, darling.'

The Grangers and Weasleys might have thought he still had a bloody long way to go, but Draco hugged Hermione and said 'I never expected a result that good in a million years.'

Hermione stared at him and said 'You need to raise your expectations.'

Draco laughed and held her tight, while everyone surrounding them watched the beautiful and couple and (mostly) thought to themselves that love is beautiful. And strange. But always beautiful.

* * *

Families started to drift apart – parents to apparition points outside the grounds (or the Hogwarts Express for muggles), and students to their dorms. Hermione started walking with her parents to the Hall entrance with the Weasleys and Malfoys.

Draco patted his pockets.

'Oh love, can you do me a favour and keep this for me? If I leave it in my pocket I'll just lose it.'

Hermione turned around just as he pulled out a ring.

Hermione was stunned. Oblivious to the gasps of the people surrounding her.

There, in Draco's slightly shaking fingers, was the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. It looked like the ring itself was made from delicate filigree brass, although she was prepared to bet it was a pure and precious dark gold. The filigree formed tendrils of perfectly-detailed leaves that wound around each other until they reached the stone in the centre, where it unfurled into a tiny branch that framed the centre jewel. It was an emerald – of course, this is Draco, after all – but it was a light-hued raw emerald, creamily opaque and absolutely unique.

In a shaking voice, she asked 'Not an engagement ring?'

He smiled and shook his head. 'It's a promise ring.'

'A promise ring?'

He gently took her right hand and slid the ring onto her fourth finger. It felt warm and light and perfect. 'I promise I'll propose to you again in a year's time.'

'Again?' cried the ladies.

'What?' cried Messrs Granger and Malfoy.

Hermione was almost bowled over from a fierce hug from Ginny. 'Congratulations! I'm so happy for you!' she screeched. 'Omigod, let me see the ring.'

'It's not an engagement ring!' cried Hermione, laughing and crying once more.

While Hermione's right hand was passed along the ladies to gawk at, Hermione reached out (with some difficulty) to Draco with her left arm and hugged him as hard as she could, despite being pulled in the other direction by Mrs Weasley, who was cooing over the ring with Mrs Granger.

'I love it,' she whispered.

He kissed her forehead. 'I love you.'

'Well, Plan C appears to have been a success,' she murmured.

Draco chuckled. 'Appears so.'

Hermione pulled back slightly and looked up at him. 'So! What's next?'

Draco pretended to mop a sweaty brow. 'Jeez, woman, can't we have a cup of tea and a lie-down first?'

Hermione considered. 'How about we ditch the cup of tea, and the parents, and go straight to the lie-down?'

His silver eyes gleamed. 'Any time you want me.'

'Always,' she smiled.

The End.

* * *

 **A/N: YAY! We made it to the finish line! I can't believe I once thought I'd have this whole story done and dusted in four chapters. Thank you so much to everyone's who read, followed and favourited this story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. I'll be back one day with a new Harry Potter fanfic – if you haven't already, pop me on your 'follow Author' list and we'll meet again. Arohanui (with deep affection) xx**


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